Rising Storm: The 16th Hunger Games
by Musiclove95
Summary: My new version of my old story with the same name. Uses characters from my old story. My very first Hunger Games story! Who will arise victor of the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games? Read to find out!
1. Introductions, etc

Introductions and the Like

_**So, hello again! Hopefully you were all able to find this story easily! I will be continuing where I left off, with my prologue and then onto the reapings. Thank to everyone who sent in a tribute!**_

_**So, for the SPONSOR and POINTS SYSTEM, you can PM me for anything you want to send you tribute. You get 40 points for creating a boy, and 30 for creating a girl. Don't worry; I have your points tallied up still. If you review a chapter, you get another 20 points and so on. I hope you enjoy my story, and here is the final tribute list!**_

District 1:

Boy- Shay Spencer

Girl- Ava Timber

District 2:

Boy- Lazarus Indigo

Girl- Katerina Emerald

District 3:

Boy- Obel Moore

Girl- Mycai Gray

District 4:

Boy- Reed Visser

Girl- Calla Rivier

District 5:

Boy- Chance Donavvin

Girl- Adelaide Grace

District 6:

Boy- Caden Klump

Girl- Alisha Hartman

District 7:

Boy- Eoin Watts

Girl- Portia Cadell

District 8:

Boy- Marcus Treble

Girl- Danilleia Uthaer

District 9:

Boy- Alec Hunter

Girl- Evelyn Yarrow

District 10:

Boy- Erah Jones

Girl- Linny Pien

District 11:

Boy- Dusk Oakley

Girl- Aura Erion

District 12:

Boy- Joshua Hartman

Girl- Ally Ravenheart

**I will be posting a prologue to this story tomorrow, hopefully, and then starting with the reapings!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	2. Prologue: Ready, Set, Go

**So here is the first chapter and prologue of my story. It basically introduces you to the Gamemakers and escorts, and the ****victors of each district. I hope you enjoy! Hopefully you all found this story all right, but I'll leave my old story up until Tuesday, so that most people can make their way over to this one!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the world that this story is set in, only the plot and any characters you don't recognize from the books!**

1. Prologue: Ready, Set, Go

A young Coriolanus Snow stands at the balcony of his mansion's highest floor. From this altitude, he can see all the goings-on in the Capitol. He is dressed in his best suit—a pressed black thing with a white cummerbund and a dark blue tie to match. His hair—a youthful brown with underlying honey tones—is sleekly styled to give him an air of authority and appeal. Today is the day. Today he prepares his Capitol attendants for their duties in the Hunger Games and meets with the Gamemakers to decide upon a location.

His speeches are written. His outfits planned out. The cameras are already positioned correctly for when he goes on air tomorrow to give his Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games speech. His stylists have drawn up sketches for what he and his beautiful wife are to look like for the event. Everything was perfectly arranged.

"Dear, Sera Lark is here to escort you to the meeting," his wife, a beautiful thing with hair the colour of red velvet and eyes the soft green of spring grass, says. Seraphina, who every calls just Sera, Lark is the Head Gamemaker for this year's Games. His wife places a hand on his arm and leads him away from the view.

"Of course, thank you, Cecilia," he says, straightening his tie and planting a chaste kiss on her soft cheek. He climbs down the spiral staircase that leads to the ground floor of his mansion.

"President Snow," a female voice, sweet but edged with steel, greets him as he reached the ground floor. Sera Lark stands in front of him, looking as stunning as usual with her flawless skin and white-blonde hair styled in perfect ringlets. Her blue eyes are lined in black, cat-eye fashion. She is dressed in a black strapless knee-length dress, paired with silver heels. A mink stole is positioned around her neck and shoulders. She fixes him with a look that's equal parts defiant and compliant. He had his reasons for selecting her as Head Gamemaker.

"Miss Lark," he replies, extending his hand to shake hers. She complies, wrapping her cool hand around his.

"The car is waiting outside for us, President." She removes her hand from his and turns toward the door. He follows, not wanting to make her wait, and anxious for the events to come.

* * *

><p>"Stop pushing! You're crinkling my dress!" a woman wearing a fuchsia pink bubble dress says to the girl next to her.<p>

"S'not my fault you chose to wear something so ridiculous to this event! You're meeting the president, not going to a dance!" the girl accused of pushing shoots back.

Snow smiles as he hears them squabble, thinking about how much of a shock the districts are going to be to them. The ones who remain quiet are the veterans, the ones who have escorted tributes to the Games before.

Seraphina Lark enters the room first, causing a rush of gasps and quiet to enter the room. "It is my great honour this year as Head Gamemaker to introduce President Snow! He is here to debrief you all on your position in the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games, and inform you on how the Games will work this year." The attendants clap, slowly at first, then faster and louder as he walks in.

He quiets them with a wave of his hand. Nodding at Sera, he begins to speak. "You are all here because you have volunteered to be a part of this momentous occasion. There are twelve of you here, some who have done this before, and others who are new to the way this works. I will call each of you up, one by one, to give you your assigned districts and a package on the districts history. These will be your saviours during your brief stay in the district. So, without further ado, I will begin the process." Snow readjusts his tie and takes a deep breath.

"Jolie Harpe," he reads out. A girl, no more than nineteen or twenty years old, steps out of the crowd. Her eyes are the colour of dewy grass and her lips are plump from collagen treatments. She is dressed in a silver one-strapped number, clearly dressed to impress. Her hair, the colour of fire, is twisted into a knot and secured at the back of her head with clips. "District One."

The girl smiles and walks up to Snow with a self-satisfied look on her face. She has the best district to escort to the Games and she knows it. The District 1 escorts usually have their work cut out for them. President Snow hands her the folder labelled 'District One' and she walks back to her seat, smirking at the other escorts-to-be.

"Mercy Rouge." Another girl, this one twenty years old, stands up in her seat and begins to walk forward. She's done this before, and she knows what district she has. She's cosmetically altered her eyes, lips, and hair to change colours with her moods, and now her eyes are blue, her lips blood red, and her hair red with self-satisfaction. "District Two."

She smiles at President Snow. "Only the best for the best," she says, taking her folder. When she reaches her seat, she turns to the girls who had been fighting before and says, "That's how it works."

"Annamarie Harte," he calls out. The girl who stands is the one who earlier accused her neighbour of crinkling her fuchsia pink dress. Going with the pink theme, she has a pink vine tattoo that curls around her face and her hair is the same pink as bubble gum. "District Three." Her face falls; she clearly wanted one of the more glamorous districts, like One, Two, and Four. A small, disappointed smile is on her face as she walks up the Coriolanus Snow and receives her folder.

"Well, lookie here," she says, her voice sarcastic, "it says that they specialize in computers. That means my tributes are without a doubt going to be complete computer nerds who have nothing better to do on the train ride here than complain about how they can't access any computers in the arena."

A couple of the other escorts laugh at her misfortune. Snow ignores the girl's embarrassment and moves on to the next name. "Elena Brooks." She's not new to the world of escorting, either. At only seventeen years of age, Elena had been escorting tributes to the Games since she was fifteen. She was Snow's personal favourite and he liked to think that if she were older and he wasn't married, he'd have liked to court her.

Elena stepped out of the crowd. Unlike a good deal of Capitolites, Elena's only consent to physical alterations was the pale white shimmer she allowed the doctors to set just under her skin. Her hair, platinum blonde, is set in curls that frame her face in a nice way. Her eyes, large but not comically so, are an icy pale blue and lined in shimmery ocean blue liner and a fringe of black, feathery lashes. Her outfit is simple compared to the other escorts-to-be: a pair of black fur-lined moccasins, and a simple white lace-crocheted v-neck dress with nude underlay to provide more coverage in the more intimate areas that the dress would otherwise reveal. "District Four."

Elena smiles at President Snow and walks up to him to receive her package. She's had District Four ever since she started escorting. "Thank you," she says politely upon receiving her papers. She leans in and brushes her full, shell pink lips across Snow's cheek. He replies in like, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Patrice Overwood." Another escorting veteran, Patrice is a twenty four year old woman, and sister to Snow's wife. Her hair is a mahogany colour, and her skin left its natural colour. She has silver eyes and the Latin phrase '_Amor vincit omnia_', meaning '_Love conquers all_', tattooed along her collarbone in black ink. Her dress for the occasion is simple, just a black ribbed dress with cut out shoulders that fit her snugly down to just above her knees, paired with silver heels. "District Five."

She daintily steps around the other escorts and greets her brother-in-law. "Quite a few new escorts we have this year." She says, her eyes scanning the eleven sitting before her.

"Fresh blood is a good thing," Snow simply states.

Patrice nods and takes her package from Snow. "Tell Cecilia that I'll come visit her soon."

As Patrice takes her seat, Snow looks down at his papers again. "Hope Joie." A petite girl with curly black hair and exotic green eyes stands up in her seat. Like the others, she is dressed to up to the nines. Her dress, also green, is a criss-crossing of strips of fabric, leaving triangles of tanned skin exposed. Her shoes are strappy, with heels that look like they could be used as weapons. "District Six."

She receives her package without a word and takes her seat again. District Six, in charge of medical research for the Capitol, usually elicited complaints from the escorts, but this girl was taking it very well, something Snow had to admire her for. "Kayleigh Minden." Kayleigh stands up, revealing that she is the girl who was apparently 'crinkling' Annamarie's dress. She herself is wearing a smooth strapless purple dress with pointy shoes to match. Her hair is done up in a blue bouffant and ponytail and she has little purple gems at the outer corners of her eyes. "District Seven."

As she receives her package, he calls up the next escort. "Zee Forester." Zee stands up and makes her way to where the president is standing. She has clearly taken advantage of cosmetic alteration and took the likeness of a snow leopard. Her hair is jet black and braided so it lies over her shoulder. Her skin is dyed a pure, pale white and her eyes are deep set and black. Black-grey spots are tattooed on her skin, making her look more like a stylist than an escort for the Games. He pitied the tributes that would be travelling with her. "District Eight."

"Reese Thorn." Snow calls out, getting bored of handing out folders. Reese is a tall girl with red boy-cut hair and high cheekbones. In place of eyelashes, she has red feathers which make it look hard for her to see. Her dress is deep red and paired with her knee-high boots, she actually looks like a huntress. Perfect for District Nine. "District Nine."

"Mimi Strom." Another girl, this one with long blue hair and black eyes, comes up. She's dressed in what looks like a bunch of feathers stuck together. Snow feels like laughing at some of these escorts ridiculous ideas of what 'fashion' is. "District Ten."

"Pierce Nightely." Pierce is another veteran to escorting. She's the oldest escort at thirty six years of age and has been escorting tributes since the very first Hunger Games. She's dressed similarly to Patrice, except that her dress is a beige colour and is floor length. "District Eleven."

Pierce walks up to Snow confidently and shakes his hand as he gives her the District Eleven portfolio. "Good to see you again, President Snow," she says politely.

Snow sighs with relief. He is on the last escort. "Terra Locke." Terra is another escort veteran, and one of Snow's close friends. Her hair, blonde, is pulled up on top of her head in a bun with loose tendrils surrounding her face. Her dress is teal coloured with halter-style straps holding it up. She walks up to Snow to receive her package as he says, "District Twelve." She smiles at him and takes the package, wordlessly walking back to her seat.

"Congratulations on your escort jobs. Study your portfolios and be at the train station with your things in five minutes. The Gamemakers and I will be there to see you off." Snow smiles for the escorts and waits for them to leave before turning to Sera and giving her a tired look.

"Poor Snow, it must be so hard being president." She coos with a playful smirk on her face.

"Come," Snow says. "We're expected to see the escorts off."

* * *

><p>Seeing the escorts off didn't take as long as Snow thought it would and soon he was seated at the head of a long oval table listening to the Gamemakers argue about a layout for the Games.<p>

"I think we should have it all on water!" one Gamemakers says.

"Idiot," another mutters. "We should have it in a desert!"

"No you fool! That would never work. A forest is the way to go!"

"You're all wrong. You're all idiots. _I_ think we should set it in the Arctic!"

After several minutes of this, Seraphina Lark, sitting to Snow's right, clears her throat and waits for silence. When she gets it, she begins to speak. "I think," She says, "that we should let the president share his ideas." A bunch of muttered _yeah_'s ensue and Sera motions for Snow to start speaking.

"We should base this year's Games off of the old Earth. Have to scale continents with water separating them. They would all have the same terrain as the extinct continents." Snow motions to Sera that he is finished.

"I think the President's idea is brilliant," one girl says, her voice shy.

"Yes, me too. I agree with Snow."

"So, we all agree to use President Snow's idea? Then this meeting is adjourned. Start working on making it happen; I want to see the playing field ready in two days from now." Sera knocks her binder on the table, signalling for everyone to leave.

**District One, Victors Village**

Crystal Spencer lies on her bed, her boyfriend, James, on top of her. James is stripped down to his boxer shorts, and Crystal's top is lying somewhere on the floor. "Make me forget tomorrow, baby?" she asks James, moaning as he sucks on her neck.

"Of course, babe. Tomorrow doesn't exist yet, just focus on me," James lightly nipped at her collarbone, "and us," he dips his head lower, planting kisses across her chest, "and how we're gonna be together forever, babe." He moves his head back up to hers and seals his lips against hers.

Crystal's so caught up in the moment; she almost forgets why she was so nervous in the first place. James is good at soothing her fears. She's supposedly invincible, but she can't help but feel powerless when faced with the Games . . . or James' wonderful lips. "How the hell can you be so calm about tomorrow? You're mentoring too!" Crystal bursts out, unable to contain the words any longer.

James removes his lips from her face. He runs his hands down her sides, relishing the feel of her soft skin. "This is my third year mentoring, Crys. You get used to it. Now, when _you_ were a tribute, two years ago, I worried about you, but look what happened then." He plants a kiss on her navel. "You won."

Crystal pushes him away from her. She can't think clearly with his hands roaming her body and lips tasting her skin. "This is only my second year, Jay. And, both my brother _and_ sister are of age. What if one of them is reaped? I mean, yeah, this is District One, and we do have a history of volunteers, but I still . . . I don't know. I think my memories are too fresh."

James reaches for Crystal's silk blouse and hands it to her. "It'll be okay. I'll be there with you. Now, I promised Loren that I'd help you find an 'appropriate' mentors outfit for tomorrow. Apparently, she wasn't impressed by your skin tight dress from last year."

Crystal laughs. "From what I remember, you didn't like that outfit very much, either. Seeing as you tore it in two that night." Crystal sighs, buttoning up her blouse. "Thanks, James. You always know how to quiet my fears." Pulling on a tough face, Crystal says: "I'm a victor. There's nothing I can't do."

James laughs, and then pulls her on top of him again. "Sorry, babe, I can't resist you."

Crystal stops buttoning up her blouse and starts undoing the buttons. "So don't. How about just once. Just because the next two weeks are going to be so stressful. Just because you love me." Crystal looks up at her boyfriend's face. "You do love me right? We're going to get married, right? After the Games?"

James looks nervous, and for a second, Crystal worries that he's getting cold feet about their plans. "Yeah, babe. There's something I need to tell you." He reaches behind him and Crystal's heart skips a few beats. James pulls out a little box and opens it for Crystal. "Will you marry me, Crys? Will you be my forever?" The ring is a golden thing with a large diamond on it.

"Of course I will! I'd be stupid not to!" Crystal takes the ring and slips it on her finger. "I love you so much, James Garnet. Now let's celebrate." Crystal pulls James down on top of her kissing him with a renewed passion.

**District Two, Training Grounds**

"Feet up! You want to hop over those logs, not trip over them!" Nathan Hawk yells at the possibly tributes in front of him. Some are hopping over the logs with lithe grace and others . . . not.

"Listen to Hawk, kids. He knows what he's doing! Now get those damn legs up! Do you wanna win this year? We've let District's One and Four walk all over us for the last three years and now you are all we have to redeem ourselves with!" Drew Emerald, the head trainer for District Two, yells.

Nathan watches as sweat pours over the faces of the children in front of him. He's twenty, blonde with bottomless blue eyes, and built in the best way. He won the Games five years ago when he was only fifteen. He's a tough trainer, but it's only because he knows what the Games are like. It's the survival of the fittest. You can't provide for yourself? Well, go to hell, because there is no way you'd even have a damn sliver of a chance of winning.

"Hey Nathan, what's up?" Katarina Emerald, sixteen years old, with a spill of brown hair tied up in a high ponytail on her head says to him. Her mother is Drew Emerald, head trainer for the District and their very first victor. Katarina stretches in front of Nathan, her tank top riding up her stomach and showing a pale stretch of unmarked skin.

"Good day, Katarina. I'm fine, just trying to get all of your asses ready for the reaping tomorrow. Speaking of which, you should be on the field practicing. Your mother expects more out of you than everyone else." Nathan has an excuse for his cold tone — Katarina's been flirting relentlessly with him since Day One, and her mother was less than impressed. She isn't exactly Nathan's number one fan.

Katarina launches herself backwards into a back handspring, and Nathan tries to put a look of interested disinterest on his face. He's actually quite impressed with her level of flexibility. "I think I'm good, Nathan." She shoots him a seductive look. "We can celebrate my excellence at your house, if you'd like. I have some good ideas."

Nathan shakes his head. Katarina's four years younger than him, that's too big of a gap to make any relationship acceptable. "No. Just get back to training." He tries to tear his gaze back to the rest of the training children, but Katarina's in front of his, placing her hands on his chest.

"But I really think I deserve a treat." Katarina's giving Nathan the puppy dog eyes.

"No, not a chance. Get your hands off me." His words are harsh and they make Katarina pout, but they work. She turns away from him, flipping her hair as she goes.

Drew walks up to Nathan, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She's still vying for you, you know." The older woman fixes him with a stern look. "If you let her act on any of her silly hormonal impulses, I'll make sure you lose your ability to create offspring." As she leaves, Nathan shudders. He has to spend the whole time in the Capitol at that woman's side, and she seems to hate him. Just fantastic.

**District Three, Victors Village**

Byte Dator walks down the main street of what has been his home for several years. He's a burly man, tall and heavily muscled. At twenty seven years of age, he is District Three's only victor. He won his Games off of sheer size and smarts. He planned a way to turn the Careers on each other, keeping his hands clean of their blood, and let the other tributes kill each other for him. He isn't proud about the way he won, but if he hadn't, District Three would be hopeless. Most of the citizens are more technologically apt than they are physically, and they don't have the smallest idea of how to survive 'off the land'.

Byte pities them. They never have a chance. They're hunted down like rabbits trapped in a box. He only wishes that he could get a decent pair for this year. Byte has a plan though, a new one, written on paper and hidden on his person at all times. It might seem absurd and more than a little bit paranoid, but it was a necessary precaution. A representative from the Capitol could show up at any moment, and if they saw him with his plan, he could be put to death. And he was really his Districts only hope.

**District Four, Golden Harbour**

Arianna Pacific is trying her damndest to get a tan. Tomorrow, she and whatever children were reaped would make their way to the Capitol, a place where Arianna knew that _everyone_ was spray-tanned. She wants a tan too, just a natural one. After all, living in District Four does have its perks.

Her partner, so to speak, for this year's Games was the sexy, twenty year old victor Dante Mer. Dante told her once that his last name was old French for 'sea', as in 'the ocean'. It seemed fitting enough, especially once Arianna caught a glimpse of Dante in the water.

Speaking of Dante, he was walking up the beach to where she was situated. His skin has a golden glow to it, which Arianna has always been very jealous. His only consent to the body modifications offered to victors of the Games was a tattoo on his right forearm. It said, in beautiful script, '_A mari usque ad mare_'. He claims its Latin, another dead language, for 'From sea to sea'. He says it was the motto of the long gone country of Canada, but regardless of where it originated from, Arianna knew it was perfect for him.

Arianna's alterations are similar to Dante's. She allowed them to tattoo the French word for mermaid, '_sirène'_ on her lower back, as well as the usual alteration they performed on female victors.

"Scoping out the possible tributes?" Dante asks her, his voice deep and exciting.

"No, I'm trying to even out my tan. Everyone in the Capitol is tanned, and if we want to get sponsors for our tributes, we have to appeal to them." Arianna says.

Dante laughs at her antics. "You could always get a spray tan in the Capitol. Granted, that might make you look a little orange and bring out the red in your hair."

"Hey, I'm a strawberry blonde, Mister, not a red head! I resent that you would even confuse this," she grabs a chunk of her _clearly_ blonde hair, "with red hair."

Dante's easy smile disappears. "Whatever. What we really should be doing is coming up with a strategy for getting sponsors. _That's_ our job. Not appealing to them sexually, but appealing to them intellectually."

Arianna's never heard Dante talk to her this way. "Well, I'm sorry that not all of us are as easily gorgeous as you are. Some of us have to work at getting a little bit of colouring." She lets out a big breath of air. "And I _am_ strategizing. I've got a great plan. You'll just have to wait and see."

**District Five, Medical Centre**

Izzy Sprigs walks through the hospital, stealing glimpses into the patient's rooms. In Room One, a woman is giving birth to twins. In Room Five, a man is having a surgical procedure done on his left knee. Some of the patients seen here are children. Children who are expected to be seen at reaping tomorrow. Most of them suffer some kind of muttation that inhibits their ability to perform some tasks. Others are here for rehabilitation and sessions on coming to terms with one's muttations.

District Five is the provider for the Capitol of DNA manipulations and the testing site for various muttations. Izzy is disgusted by the fact that some parents give up their children 'for the sake of the Capitol and all of Panem'. She thinks its bull crap.

A little girl with a tail walks by Izzy, giving her a weak smile. Izzy knows this girl. Her muttation is hereditary. Her mother, Laura Stone, was a teenage mother who was in the wrong place at the wrong time during her pregnancy.

Izzy is District Five's only victor. She won her Games off being so innocent and terrified of everything, and then turning out to be a genius with a knife. She makes daily rounds at the hospital to see the patients and remind them that they can overcome their injury or muttation.

She worries about what tomorrow will bring. But she knows that she must be strong for her District. If she loses hope, so do they. So Izzy looks on the bright side. After tomorrow, they will have another whole year until they have to go through it all again.

**District Six, Victors Village**

Jonathan Grey sat in his house sipping coffee with a shot of brandy in it. He needs it. Tomorrow's the big day, the day when two children from the village are chosen to participate in the Hunger Games.

Jonathan can remember his Games as if they were yesterday. The year he won was the year when they stuck the tributes in the desert without any water. He only survived because he knew how to safely harvest a drinkable substance from cacti.

District Six isn't known for producing victors. Their tributes are usually easy picking for the Careers of Districts One, Two, and Four. They get killed off running to the Cornucopia, trying to get water, hiding in a tree. The ways that their tributes have died are many.

Jonathan's been up for the past two days trying to figure out a way to make their tributes seem like good bets for sponsors. It's difficult, and he can attest to that. But Jonathan believes that with a ton of perseverance and focus and brains, he can find a way to reel in sponsors.

**District Seven, District Square**

Melissa Roiben is nervous. She's a stand-in, chosen by the Capitol, to act as mentor to the District's tributes until they come out with a victor. They've been close, painfully close, several times, only to lose at the last minute. A knife in the small of their back, a trap set to kill. Little things like that.

When Melissa walks by, people retreat into their houses. She isn't scary; she was raised in District Seven. The people have just started to take her as an omen. Whenever she's walking about, scoping out what she has to work with, they know the reapings are soon.

Melissa's job is simple. She has to show up on reaping day. Then she has to accompany the tributes to the Games and try to win them sponsors. It's easy, but hard at the same time. Melissa, although she's still only eighteen, has never had to attend a reaping with her name in the big glass ball. She's always been on the sidelines. Her mother did a 'favour' for President Snow of something.

The bell from the clock tower chimes ten 'o' clock, and Melissa knows that in twenty four hours, she's going to be standing in this same damn square, watching two children get chosen to die.

**District Eight, Victors Village**

Erick Highland has a migraine. It wasn't his first, and it certainly wasn't his last. His long-time girlfriend, Josie is eight months pregnant with their child and tomorrow, he leaves for the capital city of Panem. Josie's crying again because he boyfriend, her baby's father, is leaving and she could have her baby any day now and why can't he just stay home with her this one year?

Erick knows that she knows the answer. It's because he's the District's only victor, so it's his sole duty to accompany the tributes to the Games and win them sponsors. "Josie, hon, I love you so much, and you have to promise me that you'll be strong for me. You _have_ to promise me."

Josie sniffles, her pregnancy hormones are making her moody again. "I know I do. It's just so hard!"

He places a comforting hand on the small of her back. Ever since she started expanding, she's always liked the feel of his hand there. "Just fell lucky that you don't have to sit up in the control room, planning on how to keep kids alive and feeling helpless when they die before your eyes," he tells her.

"Damn it! Damn the Capitol, they can all go to hell! You don't have to leave me, or _your child_, or your District. They can_not_ make you!" Josie's almost-tears are gone and a look of rage is back on her face.

Erick shushes her and plants a chaste kiss on her cheek. "It'll be okay, Josie. I'm just glad that we're finally both safe from the reapings." Erick's mind isn't really on his conversation with his girlfriend, it's more on the events of tomorrow and how he's going to pull a kid out of the Games alive.

It's like Josie can read his mind, because she gives him a kiss on the cheek with her soft lips. "It's okay, you'll find a way. I believe in you." Suddenly, because she believes in him, he has a renewed hope for tomorrow. He can do it. He can bring home a victor. And he will.

**District Nine, Victor's Village**

"Why can't I figure this thing out?" Matthew Longes send his papers to the floor with one swipe of his arm. He can't believe how much sleep he's lost trying to come up with a strategy. He wishes that someone could help him, but he knows he's on his own. He doesn't want to be the bringer of bad news for another year. He wants this year to be different. He wants this to be the year that he brings good fortune to the District. He wants to bring home a victor.

He's the only victor for District Nine, and he won off pure trickery. But in that arena, any mannerisms you were taught evaporate like water on a hot day. Your new motto is kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest. No victor is proud of what they had to do to win, and Matthew knows that as well as any victor. Maybe better, because he killed the girl from his own District. Her parents still refuse to look him in the eye. Same with most of the girl's old friends. He doesn't blame them, he just hopes he can bring home a decent victor to make up for every bad thing he's done in his life.

**District Ten, the Bough Family Barns**

Kiera Bough runs her hand along the head of her horse, Lovely. She named the horse when she was a very little girl because of how beautiful the creature was to her. Beautiful, lovely and majestic. At twenty years old, Kiera lived through the first Uprising as a small child, and received her lovely horse, Lovely, once her family had settled again.

Now, she is standing in the same barn her family has owned for years, but with something else in mind than how absolutely beautiful her horse is. She's there for comfort. Because this year, the mayor of District Ten has asked her to accompany the district's tributes to the Hunger Games and try to win them sponsors. That's a lot of pressure to put on the shoulders of a twenty-year-old girl who has never actually been to the Games herself. She used to hide in her room when the Games were on because she couldn't stand to look at them without feeling sick.

Mayor Semoir asked her personally to do the honours. He's her aunt's husband's brother, but he's provided more for her than for anyone else in their family. Because she agreed to accompany the tributes to the Games, he's provided her with a house for her rapidly growing family—she and her husband Philip have an eighteen-month-old daughter at home, and she's two months pregnant with their next child—and a large sum of money, enough to keep them living well until her children move out.

She's frightened, though. For some strange reason, these Games give her a foreboding feeling, which is more than enough to make her want to puke her guts out, especially at this stage in her pregnancy. Her husband assures her that everything will be fine, she won't get hurt. But she fears more for the children than for herself. Carrying a child that one day will have to partake in these Games is making her think more and more about how terrible they really are. She strokes her horse's mane one last time before picking up her skirts and wandering back to the house, where she anxiously awaits to trials of tomorrow.

**District Eleven, the Orchard**

Brianna Plume smoothes out her skirts as she watches the people of District Eleven pick the fruit from the Orchard. She's never had to work a day in her life, being the old mayor's daughter and now the wife-to-be of the new mayor.

She's observing some little snot steal berries from one of the bushes when a boy wearing a little brown cap taps her on the shoulder. "Ma'am, Mayor Arbor wants to see you."

Jordan Arbor. He's the new mayor of District Eleven, taking over when Brianna's daddy got too old to handle the job. "Oh, is that so? And why, pray tell, does Mayor Arbor want to see little ole me?"

The boy shrugs his shoulders. "I dunno. But it must be pretty important because he handed me ten dollars to do it for him."

Brianna stands up, sighing to herself. Maybe this is Jordan's way of saying that he wants to finally set the date for their wedding or something sappy and romantic like that. "Okay. Thanks for the message." The boy looks at her with hopeful eyes, like he deserves a reward or something. She rolls her eyes before handing him a few coins that were in her pocket. It was probably enough to buy him a candy stick from the sweets store.

"Have a good day, ma'am!" He calls to her back, counting his loot.

When Brianna get's to Jordan's house, she doesn't bother to knock. She just lets herself in, calling his name to announce her arrival. He comes down the stairs with a flourish, looking all handsome and professional in his suit with his tanned skin and messy-chic brown hair. "G'day, milady," he says, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her into the parlour.

"You wanted to see me?" she says, batting her eyelashes.

"Yes, I do Bri." He looks at her with serious eyes. "I need a favour from you." She just nods, and he takes this as an invitation t o carry on. "I need to you accompany the tributes to the Hunger Games."

"Are you serious?" she asks, her mouth wide open in an utterly unattractive way.

"I am completely and utterly serious." He seems to sense her hesitation, because he adds: "Bri, this is a huge deal. We don't have a victor, and I need someone I can trust to get sponsors for the tributes. I trust you, and you're a great people person. Please, do this for me?"

She sighs, looking into his soulful hazel eyes. "Fine, Jordan. But once we get married, you owe me one."

**District Twelve, the Hob**

May Kolen is mourning. Tomorrow marks the day of the first time she is going to the Capitol, and it's only because the Head Peacekeeper asked her to. District Twelve is short on two things: wealth, and victors. She's subbing in for the latter.

This wouldn't be such a big deal if her sister hadn't died last year in the very same Games she is now expected to be a part of. Clary Sage Kolen, her younger sister, was reaped last year and died within the first two days of the Games. Some burly tribute from District Two stabbed her in the ribs, rupturing her spleen and leaving her to die.

May wants nothing more than to forget that the Games exist. And now she's going to the Capitol to experience the action and try to build up her district's tributes and win them sponsors. Oh, joy.

She's sitting at a small bar, drinking away her fears. Except that with every swig of alcohol she takes, she can see her sister's death even clearer. She sets down her glass of scotch and puts her head in her hands. If her sister saw her right now, she'd be yelling at her to get up off her butt and start planning, packing, doing something. Little Clary Sage's philosophy was that every cloud has a silver lining, and that good things come to those who seek them.

May pushes her glass away, blinking back tears and trying to think of a silver lining for tomorrow. When she can't think of any, she downs the rest of her scotch and starts walking to where she lives with her mother, father, and ten-year-old brother, ignoring the cheerful "Good night, May!" calls she gets from the other patrons of the district. Today isn't a day for smiles and happiness.

* * *

><p>Everything is ready for the arrival of the tributes. The cameras are set in place to record the festivities, the escorts already at their destinations. Everything is set, and now only time will tell how the Games will turn out.<p>

**There you have it. My prologue. Next chapter will be the reapings for Districts 1-4. Reviews get twenty sponsor points for you to spend on your tributes! So tell me what you think!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


	3. Happy Reaping Day to You pt 1

**Hey! I'm sorry that this took so long for me to post. Writing the reapings were harder than I thought. I probably wrote at least three different versions of this chapter, each from a different point of view. I like this one the best, though. I hope you enjoy it! **

**Disclaimer: I own the characters (except Snow) and their actions, and the plot. The rest belongs to Suzanne Collins, the amazing author of the Hunger Games.**

1. Happy Reaping-Day to You (Part One)

**District One- **_**Crystal**_

I lie in bed for an extra twenty minutes before getting up. When I do, I look at my reflection in the mirror and say, _you are Crystal Spencer, the girl who won the Fourteenth Hunger Games with all the odds stacked again her. You can handle sitting through a reaping._ It seemed like a silly suggestion last night, especially in the context it was in, but now it seemed like a very viable option. And, truth be told, it was actually making me feel a little bit better.

_"There's a way to make you feel better tomorrow, you know." James says to me, brushing his hand against my stomach. We're lying under the sheets of my bed, both naked except for the ring on my finger._

_ "What's that?" I ask and my voice is still husky from making love. _

_ "You have to remind yourself who you are. You're not some run of the mill, girl-next-door. You're Crystal Spencer, the winner of the Fourteenth Hunger Games. You have to tell yourself that this is nothing compared to that."_

_ I snuggle closer into James' chest. It's broad, well-muscled and, above all, soothing. "You're smart, aren't you?"_

_ Then he laughs and pulls me in even closer, as if he can squeeze us into one person. "Yeah, being with you does that to me."_

So here I'm standing, in my favourite pair of completely un-sexy flannel pyjamas, reminding myself of who I am and why getting through today will be a piece of cake. I take another deep breath, and then give the mirror my best haughty-District-One-victor face. Nose slightly upturned, eyes looking straight through lashes, my mouth curling into a cruel-but-sweet smile. I set it all into place on my face, and think, _there, that's the face of a girl who won the Games_.

I then move on to getting dressed. District One is the first District to have their reaping. It happens at ten 'o' clock on the dot, and _everyone_ has to be there. It's, like, a crime not to be there. And not even just a social crime. It's federal.

Luckily, James and I found an outfit for me to wear last night after we finished having fun. He left here around midnight because he claimed that we both need sleep. I told him sleep could go to hell, but he just kissed me on my ring and left my room.

I look at the dress he pulled out of my closet. It's a pretty, strapless tube dress, the soft green colour of new spring grass. It falls to just above my knees and has a baby blue ribbon sewn around the waist. It's absolutely gorgeous and reminds me of the dress I wore on the first stop of my Victory Tour, in District Twelve. And of how quickly James was able to get it off of me, because it was a slip-on.

I strip down to my panties and throw on a thin strapless brassiere to go under the dress. Then I pull the dress on over my head and fiddle with it until it fits just right. I skip checking myself in the mirror and go straight to carefully brushing out my hair, leaving it hanging in its loose, natural golden-brown waves. I pull the make-up kit I bought while I was in the Capitol and select a little bottle of mascara from it, twisting the cap off to reveal a tiny brush, coated in mascara. I swipe it on my lashes, and then pull out a stick of black eyeliner and draw a thin line above my eyes, extending the top line out and thickening to look like a cat's eye.

I then scrutinize my reflection in the mirror, trying to decide if I look enough like a victor.

I do.

So, I walk over to my dresser and pull on my favourite pair of heels: they're deadly green snakeskin stilettos with padding so they don't hurt my feet. I got them as a sixteenth birthday present from my parents, who absolutely spoiled me as a child and still do.

There's a knock on my door, and when I turn around, James is standing there, looking as gorgeous as ever in his new suit. "Ready to go?" he asks me.

"Yes," I reply, and we walk together down to the Grand Square of the district where the stage is set up. Our new escort, a tall girl named Jolie Harpe, is standing on the stage talking to the mayor of District One. Loren Timber, our district's very first victor is already seated on the stage and she gives me a curt nod as James and I walk up.

I take my seat beside her and look out at the crowd. I can pick my brother and sister out of the sea of faces immediately. My brother, Shay Spencer, is seventeen and stands towards the back of the group of boys. He's tall, but not abnormally so, with light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He's muscled in that same lean way James is and has the cocky personality to match. But I love him all the same.

Then there's my sister. Her name's Glimmer Spencer and she's sixteen with an attitude. She's going through a phase where she thinks she's above everyone else because I'm a victor and our parents live in the richer part of town. She looks a lot like our mother, with her golden blonde hair and green eyes.

Mayor Glosete taps on the microphone, getting everyone's attention. "Good morning citizens of District One. Today is a day for celebrations, remembering, and repenting. This is the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games. Sixteen years ago, these Games began to remind us of what happens when we go against the government of Panem. These Games are to remind us of our biggest wrong, and to ensure we never try to rebel again." The Mayor reads off the customary speech, which I swear is given to each of the Mayor's of the districts of Panem because if you watch all the ceremonies, the wording is exactly the same. Mayor Glosete closes his speech by saying, "Without further ado, I introduce to you the lovely Jolie Harpe, who will be choosing our two tributes."

Jolie, dressed in the most tight-fitting strapless dress I have ever seen, blows a kiss to the watching crowd before taking the microphone. "Yes, welcome to the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games. It is _such_ a pleasure to be here with you, selecting your tributes," she says, her Capitol accent making me wince. I forgot how piercing their accent could be.

"So, ladies first." She crosses the stage to the giant glass ball that contains the names of all the girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen in our district. She sticks her hand in and pulls out one slip of paper. I cross my finger and pray for all I'm worth that the name on it isn't Glimmer Spencer. "District One, your female tribute for the Sixteenth Hunger Games is," she leaves a dramatic pause, "Emmalyn Trappe. Now, it is customary to ask for volunteers, so I shall. Does anyone want to take Miss Emmalyn Trappe's place?"

A familiar voice cuts through the murmur of the crowd. "I volunteer!" The cameras locate the speaker as she saunters up to the stage. Beside me, Loren Timber tenses up, recognising the voice.

"Darling, what's your name?" Josie asks.

"Ava Timber," the girl replies, a smirk playing across her face. She tosses her black hair as she looks at the audience.

"Well, then. District One, you have a new female tribute. Miss Ava Timber. Give her a hand!" Josie leaves Ava standing there and crosses the stage to draw a boy's name.

She sticks her name in the glass ball and pulls out a slip of paper. Just as I'm thinking _please no, please no, don't be Shay_, Josie starts talking again. "District One, your male tribute is . . . Shay Spencer!" I feel my heart stop beating and James squeezes my hand.

"Whatever you do, don't show any emotion," he murmurs to me, keeping his face neutral. I fight to keep mine vacant of expression. It's a whole lot harder than I thought.

Shay takes his place on the stage and whispers something to Josie, probably insisting that she doesn't ask for volunteers, because in the end, she skips that step. She launches into some huge speech on what an _honour_ it is to be a tribute. All I can hear is anger, red hot in my ears.

Ten minutes later, I'm being rushed into my house in the Victor's Village to grab my bags, and then herded to the train station by Peacekeepers, James in tow. In the time it takes me to blink, we're moving and all I can think is, _this is it._

**District Two-**_** Katerina**_

It's reaping day. My big day. I'm going to volunteer to be a tribute and then bring home gold for my district. I'll be a hero. Someone that Nathan considers his equal so the idea of us being together isn't so outrageous and wrong to him.

I'm dressed in my best dress. It hugs my curves to the best advantage and accents the startling emerald green colour of my eyes. Bluebell insists that Nathan would have to be blind, or gay, not to notice me today. Raven insists that Bluebell's right. And I believe them.

We're standing in the centre of the district, herded like animals into roped off areas. I'm standing towards the middle of the crowd of girls with Bluebell and Raven on either side of me. They're ready to push for me if I don't get reaped so that I can make it up to the front and volunteer. That's what'll _really_ get Nathan Hawk's attention.

Our escort this year is Mercy Rouge. She's been the escort for our district since I can remember, even though she doesn't look a day over twenty. The Mayor's saying his huge speech now, which is carefully practiced and committed to memory. His daughter, Anna, and his son, Colton, claim that he says it in his speech some nights. Nathan has a carefully crafted look of self-satisfaction on his face, and I'm sure that look is practiced too.

The Mayor then introduces the 'lovely' Mercy Rouge, and lets her say her spiel. I tune this out. I know full well what's going on. Instead, I fill my head with my game plan. First, Mercy would call some poor twelve year old girl's name form the giant glass ball. The girl would look teary-eyed up at the camera and Mercy would ask for volunteers to take sweetheart's place. I would volunteer. Then me and whatever guy they reap would be whisked away to the Justice Building, where Nathan will walk into my room to see me and we'll make out until someone comes to get me. It's a good plan.

I must look spaced out, because Bluebell elbows me in the ribs. I check back into reality and see Mercy standing by the giant glass ball of girl's names. "Your female tribute for this year is . . . Amethyst Violette!" Amethyst is actually a girl in my grade who has been crushing on Nathan Hawk about as long as I have. No way is that bitch stealing the glory and his heart.

"Now in the spirit of the Games, I'm going to ask for volunteers. Do we have any?" Mercy asks.

My hand shoots up. "I volunteer," I say in a loud voice. Raven and Bluebell accompany me up to the front of the crowd, shoving people out of our way.

"Go get him, Kat," Bluebell says, making a clawing motion. I put on my game face and jump over the ropes; walking up to the stage like it's a runway.

"What's your name?" Mercy asks.

I reply, "Katerina Emerald," and Mercy smiles cruelly.

"Perfect." She says. She then crosses the stage to where the ball of boy's names is standing. I don't pay attention. I'm too busy looking at Nathan, who looks unbelievably sexy in his dress wear. I only snap back to reality when Mercy calls out the boy tributes name. "Colton Rubinus!" I see the Mayor's face pale; that's his twelve-year-old son. "Do we have any volunteers?"

Lucky for Mayor Rubinus, this is District Two, and volunteers are as plentiful as the dirt we stand on. Someone calls out, "I volunteer!" and I gasp as I see who it is. _Lazarus Indigo_. Raven and Bluebell are probably shitting their pants laughing.

Lazarus and I go _way_ back. I made his life a living hell in school when we were little kids. He was a little on the scrawny side, and not because he didn't have enough to eat. His family did. And still does. I see an eerily familiar head towering over the rest of the boys as who is supposed to be scrawny little Lazarus Indigo parades up to the stage with an arrogant look on his face.

I don't believe it's him until Mercy asks who he is and he replies with "Lazarus Indigo, but you can call me Indie."Proceeded with a wink. A _wink_.

I get a better look at the body the familiar head is attached to and feel my stomach drop. Scrawny little Lazarus Indigo isn't so scrawny anymore. His shirt is just tight enough that I can get glimpse of his obviously muscular physique. I'm pretty sure that if I were to take his shirt off, I'd see an immaculate set of abs. _Not_ that I want to take Lazarus Indigo's shirt off.

So I look at his face. His hair's the same dark brown colour it's always been, and he's wearing it at a length that allows it to curl at the nape of his neck. If I were to kiss him, I'd be able to wrap my fingers in it. I _don't_ want to kiss him. His eyes are the same light blue colour as always, but instead of his skin being rather pasty, it's tanned. Like, oh-my-freaking-God tanned.

I haven't seen Lazarus since we were ten and he answered some question that the teacher's thought was impossible for a kid our age. They made him take a bunch of tests, apparently, and told him that he was done school, his intelligence surpassing that of even the older students. Which gave me a new nickname to call him. _Nerd_. Yeah, I was a bit of a bitch as a kid. So sue me.

Mercy is motioning for us to shake hands, so I do, noticing the way that his arm muscles flex as he shakes my hand. It's not a horrible sight. Then I remind myself of why I volunteered in the first place, and I think of how much sexier Nathan Hawk's arms are.

The ceremony ends and a Peacekeeper leads me to the Justice Building. I've never actually been here before. The room I'm led to is spacious, and the furniture is all made of plush purple velvet. This is the space where my visitors are going to come to give me a quick pep-talk. My first visitor is a tag-team consisting of Bluebell and Raven. They're still laughing, their faces a shade of red.

"What the hell is so funny?" I demand.

Raven, doubled over, stands up straight. "Well, you and Lazarus."

"No shit, I'd never have guessed that." I say, pissed off.

"No, no, what Raven means to say is that karma's a bitch," Bluebell says, sending them both back into fits of giggles.

"Yeah, and so am I when I get angry. So shut the hell up and give me some advice." I say.

They both throw their hands up in the signal for _I surrender_. "Okay, so this: stay alive. Don't let your infatuation with Nathan impede on your strategizing in the Games. Don't think about him, unless it's to motivate you. You're the most talented girl out there, so go get 'em, tiger." Bluebell says, keeping her voice light and upbeat.

"Yeah, what she said." Raven agrees. Then, there's a knock on the door and a Peacekeeper comes in to escort them out. I give my two best friends a hug as they leave.

My next visitor is a surprise to me. _My mother_. To anyone else, their mother would be the first person they'd expect to see, but for me, she was the last person I'd expect to see. "Mom," I greet her, surprise colouring my voice.

She gives me a knowing look. "I had to bribe the Peacekeepers in order to get in here. Technically I'm not your mentor, nor am I attending this year's Games, but apparently there's some law against victors visiting tributes. I have five minutes to tell you everything I need to." That's my mom. Always right down to business.

"One, don't let your silly teenage hormones get in the way of your goal—winning. Nathan Hawk's a good mentor, but he's not good enough for you. I know him well, you can do so much better, sweetie. Two, stay out of the bloodbath. Grab your weapons and go. Don't make any kills; just take the time while they are fighting to find water and the best hiding spots. You're fast; I know you can make it in and out before half of them are even off their starting places. And three," she pauses, looking me right in the eyes. "I _do_ care about you, Katerina. You're my _daughter_. I know you think I'm a little hard hearted and a bit of a bitch, but it's all because I've known that you're destined to be a victor. It's in your genes. So go and do your best. I'm cheering you on." My mom reaches into her pocket and pulls something out. She holds it up to me, and my breath catches in my throat.

It's a locket made of black gold encrusted with little onyx stones along the edges. "Mom, but this is . . . Dad gave this to you." My dad died when I was three of a disease no one could cure. They identified it too late and told us that there was nothing they could do for him. He died in his sleep with Mom beside him.

"He'd want you to have it as your token. If he was alive, he'd be so proud of you," my mom says, placing the locket in my hands. Shaking, I reach around my neck to fasten the necklace. My mom straightens it while I un-tuck my hair from beneath the chain.

When I say, "Thank you so much," and "I love you, Mom," I actually mean it for one. For my dad, I'll win.

**District Three- **_**Byte**_

It's the day. It's the time.

I'm standing on stage, in my spot, as Mayor Ipsum reads out his speech on why the Hunger Games began. I know the speech off by heart, I've heard it enough. He starts off by explaining the Dark Ages, when there were thirteen districts instead of just twelve. He explains how some of the districts rebelled against the Capitol and how the whole rebellion was orchestrated by District Thirteen, who were annihilated by the Capitol. The Hunger Games started to remind us of what happens when we try to defy the Capitol.

Our new escort, Annamarie Harte, is sitting in a chair beside the podium, looking completely uninterested. She's inspecting her flawlessly painted nails for mistakes. She's dressed in a pink sequined strapless sheath dress, and her hair, bubble gum pink, is curled and flows over her shoulders. She's got a tattoo of a pink vine curling across the side of her face. She has this look on her face that is a mixture of disgust and complete disappointment.

When Mayor Ipsum introduces her and invites her up to the podium, she gives me this look that says _I'm bored. How much longer till this is over?_

"Hello, people of District Three." Her voice has a Capitol accent, and is several octaves higher than a person's voice should be. "I bring greetings from President Snow, who has bestowed upon me the honour of drawing your tributes and escorting them to the Games. So, as with everything, ladies will go first." She crosses the stage in her ridiculously high heels, and sticks her hand into the large glass ball on the right side of the stage.

"Okay, so your girl tribute for these _wonderful_ Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games is Lina Storme. Hooray for you, now get your little ass up here so I can move on to the next tribute," Annamarie says, muttering the last part. My thought: we've got a winner of an escort this year. _Not_.

"Wait!" a voice calls from the crowd of girls. "I want to volunteer to take her place!"The small brown haired girl who was walking up to the stage with her eyes full of tears looks back and sees another girl, this one slightly taller with dark hair held in a high ponytail.

"No, Mycai you can't do that! What about your siblings?" the smaller girl, Lina, cries.

"They'll be fine and I can do whatever I want. I'm not going to let you die in the arena. We both know that I'm the one with the better chance of surviving in there. I'm going to win for you and my family, Lina."

"Hurry up! I don't care which one of you is going as a tribute, I just need one of you to get up here." Annamarie says, checking her nails for defects again.

The girl who volunteered walked up to the stage and I instantly recognised her. _Mycai Grey_. Her mother died a few years ago when a particularly drunk Peacekeeper whipped her to death because he thought that she was breaking a law. Mycai was there to witness it.

"Now, what's your name, Miss Volunteer?" Annamarie asks in a patronizing voice.

"Mycai Gray," the girl says, holding her head high.

"Well, District Three; you've got yourself a tribute. Now, onto boys." Annamarie crosses the stage to the glass ball containing the boy's names. She sticks her hand in, throwing tradition out the window and pulls a slip of paper out. "Obel Moore. Come up to the stage!"

Obel's a quiet boy. I recognise him because his mother, a great, intelligent computer programmer, helped me with the blueprints for my plan. He makes his way up to the stage, his whole body shaking visibly. He's the epitome of District Three tributes: more comfortable around machinery than people, more skilled with wires than with swords, and more brainy than brawny. He's the norm from our humble little district. I was the exception, and that was why I won my Games.

The ceremony closes and the tributes are whisked away. "God, why are your tributes so pathetic? I mean, that little's girls' show of bravado when she volunteered for her friend? It was so sappy-sweet I thought I was going to puke. And the boy's shaking? Priceless. You don't see anything like this in Districts One, Two, and Four."

_This escort is an honest-to-God bitch_, I think. "I'm gravely sorry that my district isn't up to par with your standards," I say as sarcastically as I can. I'm too busy looking over my blueprints to focus on her. _I need to get my hands on some wires_.

"Well, _I'm_ sorry for being truthful. Those two pathetic tributes won't last more than two days in the arena." Annamarie's voice is closer than before.

I fold up my paper carefully and look her right in the eyes. "Those 'pathetic' tributes have my full and complete confidence. I think they're both incredibly brave and intelligent, and in the Games, those two characteristics are more important than having all the strength in the world."I tell her, then get up and leave her, mouth open, alone on the stage. With my plan, my tributes are going to win. They're going to prove that while District Three isn't as glorified as Districts One, Two and Four, they still have what it takes to beat everyone else.

**District Four- **_**Arianna**_

_I look stunning_, I think. I'm wearing a simple ocean blue Grecian goddess-style halter dress that falls to above my knees and a pair of strappy silver heels that have laces that go up my calves, stopping just before my knees. They complete the dress, claims my old stylist from the Games, who I had design the dress for me. I'm not vain; I just want to look like a mentor instead of a seventeen year old girl.

Dante, looking _so_ gorgeous in his simple suit, knocks on my door. "Arianna," he calls, "it's time for us to take our seats on the stage." I'm shaking with excitement. Every other year, I've been standing amongst the crowd of girls, praying I won't get reaped. Now, I've survived the fire and get to sit on the stage. A sort of nervous energy runs through my veins. What if I trip going up to greet the tributes? What if I do the wrong thing at the wrong time? What if I make a total fool of myself?

I take a deep breath, like I do in yoga, and plaster a self-confident smile on my face. It's not hard; I just think about how I know I look amazing in my dress. Like a true _sirène_.

"Miss Pacific, you look great in that dress," Dante says, taking in my awesome dress, and my hair drawn up into a complicated updo which incorporated loose curls, a braid across the front of my head, and flowers woven through the curls.

"Why thank you, Mr. Mer. You look good in your suit. Let's go," I probably sounded like I was a five year old excited to go to a birthday party.

Dante just laughs. "I know how you feel, you know. The first time I got to sit up on that stage while everyone else had to stand in the crowds was amazing. I felt like I was on top of the world, until, of course the actual reaping happened, and my best friend Landon was reaped and I started thinking, oh crap."

Dante's words put a damper on my mood. Being an only child, I don't have any siblings to worry about, but several of my friends are still of age. We make our way to the stage in silence, and I pay careful attention to what Dante does. He's an old pro at this, having sat up here since he was fifteen. A petite girl, no older than me, walks over to where we are seated. Her skin shimmers as if she was doused in sparkling powder. _On anyone else_, I think, _it would look fake. But on her, it looks perfectly natural_. Her hair is platinum blonde and set in perfect curls which cascade down her back. Her eyes are large and icy blue, fringed by thick eyelashes. She's wearing a simple white dress with thick straps a flowy skirt that fell to the same place as mine. Her dress is cinched in the middle with an icy white ribbon. My first thought when I was her was that she was a total ice queen.

"Hello again, Dante," she says, her voice sweet and not as affected as some Capitolites. I remember her from last year suddenly. She is my age, seventeen, and one of the youngest escorts. Despite her Ice Queen looks, she's genuinely sweet and knows exactly what she's doing.

"Hello, Elena. This is last year's victor, Arianna Pacific. You might remember her from last year." Dante says.

"Yeah, I remember you from last year. Congratulations again on your victory. So you're mentoring this year?" She extends a hand, which I shake.

"Yes. I'm not sure whether to be nervous or frightened by the prospect." I reply.

"Oh, you don't have to worry. Dante's the best of them, just follow his lead." Just then, the Mayor walks up to the stage and Elena sighs. "I better go take my place. I'll talk to you later on the train." I decide that as far escorts go, we've lucked out.

I sit patiently as the Mayor reads out his script. When I was standing with the other girls, my friends and I would scoff at the way that the Mayor's eyes told a whole different story than what he was reading. Now I pay careful attention to every detail, so I can have my story straight for any questions that come up in an interview of how the reaping went.

When it's time for Elena to draw the tributes, I sit up even straighter because I know the cameras will be on me, last year's victor, gauging my reaction. I just keep telling myself, you look awesome. Dante's beauty is outshone by yours. You are beauty incarnate.

"Hello, District Four. It is such an honour to be back in your fabulous district. Last time I was here, with Arianna for her victory tour, it rained every day that I was here. Now I'm greeted by sunshine." She gives the crowds a white smile, and people cheer. Even though she escorts their children off to die every year, Elena's got this air of friendliness to her. People even said hi to her this morning as she got off the train. Other district's escorts are met with the throwing of rotten fruit, or other horrible surprises. "So, this year, I thought we'd shake up the process a bit. Picking the girl tribute first is getting a little old, isn't it?" She flashes another smile, this one directed to the boys. "So, boys, I'll draw one of your names first and then I'll ask for any volunteers."

She crosses the stage like a pageant queen and sticks her hand into the glass ball of boy's names, daintily drawing one. "So, District Four, may I present you your male tribute for the Sixteenth Hunger Games . . . Aaron Current!" The crowd goes silent and from Elena's expression, I can tell that she knows why. "If there are any volunteers, step up now."

Aaron is a twelve year old boy, the Mayor's son, who is well-loved by most of the district. I myself have spoken with him on many occasions, and he's the kind of kid that has an innocent, positive view on everything. He's a sweetheart and I am on the same side as those who would be heartbroken to see him in these Games. But I fight to keep my face neutral. "I volunteer!" Another boy's voice says.

I see him emerge from the crowd, and I instantly recognise him. We went to school together when we were little, and were in the same year. While my parents owned a fishing boat, his were employed by a family that owned a boat. He's lean and muscular from years of hauling bags of fish around and swimming. His skin is sun-kissed, like that of most of the men in our district, and his eyes are the same colour as the ocean on a stormy day. _Reed Visser._

Elena greets him warmly when he comes up to the stage, shaking his hand and raising it. "Your name is?" she asks.

He answers, and she nods. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, Reed Visser!" She motions for Dante and me to shake Reed's hand and lead him to his place on the stage.

"You won last year, I figure it my turn to win," he says jokingly. I smile at him and give him a friendly hug as Dante and I lead him to his place.

Meanwhile, Elena is already over at the ball of girl's names. "And now, because the suspense is _killing _me, and probably most of you girl's too, the name of the female tribute! Your female tribute this year is . . . Calla Rivier! Do we have any volunteers to take this young lady's place?" When the crowd is silent, Elena beckons for Calla to come up to the stage. While there always seems to be boys who want to volunteer in our district, it is rare to get any female volunteers.

Calla makes her way up to the stage. "Give this girl a hand!" Elena says, lifting Calla's hand up. Calla's also in my year, but I've only spoken to her on rare occasions. I _do_ know that she is the daughter of the richest man in District Four and that she has a much older brother who helps her father run the business. They own the company that oversees the delivery of fish to the Capitol. She's a bit stuck up, which is probably why I only spoke to her on rare occasions.

Dante and I go to lead her to spot beside Reed, shaking her hand. She gives me a hard look, like the fact that she was reaped was my fault. To Dante, she gives a flirty smile. This girl gives sexy a run for its money and although I'm a victor, that fact can never give me what this girl's got. I'm a silly child compared to her, and Dante's look seems to confirm that.

"So these are your tributes! Let's give them one last fabulous District Four send-off before they are escorted to the Justice Building and given their visits!" Elena calls, and the crowd actually cheers. She's always been able to illicit some sort of response for them, mostly because she's a complete people person.

Calla and Reed are led off by Peacekeepers and the crowds are cleared away. That's when Dante comes up to me, his sexy voice in my ear. "What do you think of our tributes this year? Think we've got a chance of having two victors in a row?"

I don't know why her smile at Dante causes this reaction in me. Dante and I have never had a relationship that goes past friendly banter and professional camaraderie. I don't feel that way about my fellow victor. Or do I? I consider him sexy, but is that just human nature, or is it my feelings? I shake those thoughts from my head and respond. "I think we've got a chance with Reed."

Dante laughs, low and sexy. Sexy, sexy, _sexy_. "What about Calla?"

"I think she's a whore." I don't know why I just said that.

"Really? I was thinking more along the lines of a spoiled brat, but you know, your word works too. You've always been so eloquent," Dante jokes.

I hit him in the arm, joining his laughter and thinking,_ Holy crap, maybe I do like him_. The Hunger Games is not a good time to sort out my feelings. I have to be at the top of my people-pleasing game to get sponsors for our tributes. I can't be caught up in my own personal drama. I push all these thoughts out of my head. "Let's go get our stuff." I say, not bothering to take his hand like I usually would. I probably seem standoffish to him, but I can always cover it with the fact that I'm nervous and not the fact that I don't want him to know that I . . . maybe . . . have feelings for him. And good ones at that.

* * *

><p>Seraphina Lark looks out at the mess of water and greenery that is soon to become the playing field for the Games. She can already see the likeness of Antarctica, with its icy terrain and mountains. Africa is shaping up, the Nile River's likeness being carved out of the mostly barren desert-like area. The continents are roughly shaped, surrounded by salty ocean water. She placed the order for sharks to be put in the oceans already, not too many, but enough to discourage the tributes from swimming across the 'ocean'. Altogether, she's pleased with the progress of the playing field so far. She orders the hovercraft driver to bring her back to the Capitol, as she still has other things that need her attention. She knows that the Sixteenth Hunger Games are going to be the best ones yet.<p>

**So, there you have it. The reapings from District's 1 to 4. What do you think? Good, bad? Review for twenty points! Next up, the reapings from District's 5 to 9. **

**xoxo, **

**FireandIce95**


	4. Happy Reaping Day to You pt 2

**Hey! So here is part two of the reapings. I just realized that in the last chapter at my ending note, I said that this chapter would include the reapings of Districts Five to Nine, but I just realized that in order to have four districts per chapter, this one will only go up to the District Eight reapings. Sorry about that. This chapter wasn't very easy for me to write. I think I had writers block or something because I would sit at my laptop for like an hour and only write like, two words on the page. Yeah, not good. So here it is. I think it's a pretty decent chapter. This chapter is a lot darker than the last chapter, just because we are now officially out of the cozier Career districts and into the ones that have this hatred and fear of the Hunger Games, and for very good reasons. I hope the characters I chose to tell the reapings through are okay, some of them were a bit more difficult than others to write through. Anyway, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: You know what I own. The rest belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

2. Happy Reaping-Day to You (Part Two)

**District Five- **_**Izzy**_

Ten 'o' clock. Eleven 'o' clock. Noon. One 'o' clock. Two 'o' clock. Two chimes.

Hands firmly placed at my sides, I put on a brave face and remember that as long as I don't crack my district will be able to hold it together. Our Mayor, Walter Darke, stands at the podium. The sky above him is a dark, ominous gray, but here in District Five, we wouldn't want to have it any other way on Reaping Day.

Our escort this year is the same woman we've had since I can remember. She's pretty, not as self-obsessed as some of the other people in the Capitol that I've met, and she's compassionate. She hates standing in the Control Room as much as I do. We've been partners for some time now, she and I. She gives me a small comforting smile as we watch the faces of the children in my district. Some look on the verge of tears. Others have this look on their face that says _Izzy, help me. I don't want to die._

Sorrow wells up in my chest as I realize that no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try; in the end I'm powerless before the Games. What happens in the arena is all up to the tributes.

Darke is fairly close to the end of his speech. It is now his time to introduce me, the only victor. "Here in District Five, we are mocked by the other districts because of our poverty, and our tendency towards submitting muttated tributes. We have one victor, Miss Isabella Sprigs. She is our districts greatest treasure, our only victor." I stand up and stare at a brightly burning light set up to brighten the stage for filming purposes to ward off my tears.

"And now, the end of our ceremony is nigh and it is time for me to introduce Patrice Overwood, our escort from the Capitol."

Patrice steps up to the microphone, tapping it twice to make sure it works. When she knows that it does, she begins to talk. "Hello, District Five. Today marks the start of the Sixteenth Annual Hunger Games. For sixteen years, two tributes—one girl and one boy—from each district have been chosen to compete in the Hunger Games. This year is no different. I will start by drawing the name of your female tribute." Patrice crosses the stage in her graceful way and pulls a name from the giant glass ball of girl's names.

"Adelaide Grace," she calls out. Silence ripples over the audience. I know why. Patrice knows why. But both of us are tied, we're not supposed to show any emotion towards who is or isn't reaped. "Do we have any volunteers to take her place?" Despite everyone's love and admiration of Adelaide, no one volunteers.

Adelaide Grace, 14 years old, is one of District Five's prides. If I'm their 'greatest treasure', this girl is equivalent to one of the crown jewels. Her mother was a worker at one of District Five's many DNA manipulation plants. They genetically engineer vegetable and such to look more aesthetically pleasing to the people of the Capitol. After her younger brother, Bailey, was born, her mother went back to the factory. One day, she decided to take Adelaide to work with her, and a malfunction happened in the plant. Adelaide and her mother were in the middle of building when the explosion happened all around them. Adelaide and her mother were rushed to the hospital and the doctors worked relentlessly on them to keep them both alive.

The outcome? One incredibly brave girl, motherless, was allowed to go home with her father, who was worried almost to the point of sickness for his little girl, and her brother, who was almost catatonic with grief over losing his mother and almost his sister. During the explosion, the doctors think that Adelaide fell on one of the genetic modification machines, because as the doctors were working to save her life, they found a pair of frail feathered wings attached to her back that weren't there before. They had to perform more surgery on Adelaide to ensure that the newfound wings wouldn't affect her ability to move her arms properly due to the alignment of the wings and her shoulder blades.

She regained the ability to use them. After months of intensive rehabilitation, she was cleared to be able to train with the rest of her district. She won a medal of honour for her efforts. That's why it is such a sad sight to see her trudging up to the stage to be a tribute in the Hunger Games.

Patrice shakes Adelaide's hand and shows her where to stand. She then makes her way over to the ball of boy's names. "Your male tribute is . . . Chance Donavvin."

A tall boy with brown hair and blue eyes makes his way up to the stage. He's almost six feet tall and is well-muscled, although he doesn't look much older than 15 or 16 years old. "Do we have any volunteers?" Again, there is silence. Chance doesn't seem to mind. He has no problem keeping a smirk on his face as he stands beside Adelaide.

I walk over to the tributes and shake their hands. Adelaide's hand is warm and she gives mine a tight squeeze. "I'll be okay," she whispers, her eyes dry.

I nod and shake Chance's hand. Suddenly, I remember where I know him from. He used to be friends with my younger brother Troy, named after the powerful ancient city, before Troy fell sick with meningitis and passed away at the age of seven. He wraps his hand over my smaller one and gives me a small smile as if he too is remembering Troy.

Patrice finishes her speech and Mayor Darke says his closing, wishing our tributes the best of luck. Two Peacekeepers lead Chance and Adelaide to the Justice Building while I stand on the stage, waving good-bye to all the lucky people staying back here in District Five. Again, I think of my brother who bravely battled his disease at only seven years of age. Mentoring tributes at the Games is a little like a disease too. You spend all year thinking you're fine and that the nightmares will go away, that you'll no longer be plagued with memories of the people you killed.

Troy suffered vomiting; so do I whenever I think about going back to the Capitol. Troy had a high fever which gave him nightmares; so do I. Every night I feel feverous and I have horrible nightmares about events that happened eight years ago. Troy was constantly plagued by severe headaches; so am I. He became sensitive to light, hating the smallest changes in brightness or darkness. I have the same. I, at twenty six years old, am battling the same symptoms of the disease my brother battled, only my disease doesn't have an eighty percent death rate. There have only been fifteen of us, and we're still alive. I think of how my brother handled his disease and suddenly, I know I'm going to try my hardest to overcome mine and bring home a victor. For Troy.

**District Six-**_** Hope Joie**_

I wasn't born in the Capitol. I was born in District 13. I was two when the district was obliterated. My father was an ambassador of a sort, sent by the Capitol to supervise the goings-on in Thirteen to ensure nothing drastic happened. Needless to say, he didn't quite do his job correctly. He fell in love with my mother instead and they had me. When District Thirteen went up in smoke, my parents went with it. They sent me back to the Capitol where I grew up with my father's parents.

When President Snow asked for volunteers to escort tributes to the Capitol for the Hunger Games, I applied as soon as the forms were sent out. It was the only way I'd get to go to the districts without arising suspicion. Life in the Capitol is great, but a part of me wants to reconnect with my District-ancestry, even if my ancestry no longer exists.

The Mayor of District Six, a kind man named Lucas Hartman, is reading off the history of Panem, from the Dark Days up to the Treaty of Treason and the obliteration of my birthplace up to today's events. When he mentions District Thirteen, I have to fight to keep my face blank. I've never heard this speech before, my grandparents would always watch the highlights, and even then the speech isn't as famous in the Capitol. They show clips of it from each district and then move on to the tribute's reactions, breaking down everything about them. Fear? Twitching eyebrow? Everything gets analyzed by the reporters.

I'm being introduced and called up to the stage. When I get to the podium, I have to look straight at the sun to clear my eyes of the tears I'm about to shed. I've never given much thought to what this day must be like for them. What would've happened if my district _hadn't_ been destroyed? Would we, would _I_, be subject to this too?

"Hello District Six," I say, hoping my voice doesn't waiver. "It is _such_ an honour for me to be here, escorting your tributes to the Games. This is my first time escorting, and my first time being to your fine district. So, I'll start the process."

I walk to where the ball of girl's names is. I take a deep breath and think about what the other escorts told me on the train ride here. _Look confident. Head high. No matter what you're feeling, act above it all. _"Ladies first," I say. I stick my hand in the giant glass ball and resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to read off the tribute's name.

I take a deep breath and read the name. I try to keep my voice unaffected, but my words just end up coming out flat. "Alisha Hartman." Also known as the daughter of Lucas Hartman, Mayor. As the blonde head of the Mayor begins her ascent to the stage, I remember something else about what the other escorts told me. _Ask for volunteers after you draw the name, not before_. Volunteers. Maybe I can spare the Mayor's daughter by having someone volunteer to take her place.

So in a strong voice, I say, "Do we have any volunteers?" I resist the urge to add 'Come on, volunteer!'

Everything is silent, and someone in the crowd gives a hard laugh. I feel a large hand on my shoulder as Alisha walks onto the stage. It's Jonathan Grey, the district's only victor. He's cute, in a rugged way. He leans down and whispers, "We've never had a volunteer here."

I nod briskly, trying to too efficient. "Okay, well, let's give our tribute a hand!" No one claps. In fact, it's quieter now than it was before. I spare a glance at Alisha, who is a spitting image of her father, just a female version. Her hair is platinum blonde and pin-straight and her eyes are the same friendly, warm chocolate-brown colour as his.

I shake her hand, and then cross the stage to draw the boy's name. "Your male tribute this year is," I take a deep breath and read this name off, even though it's not familiar in the least. "Caden Klump." I don't know why, but the name evokes memories of my mother, or at least the stories my grandparents would tell me about her. Maybe, I think, they mentioned my mother having a brother, named Caden. That's why the name seems so familiar.

A boy with dark brown hair, shaggy and unevenly cut, and eyes as dark as the winter sky walks up to the stage. He's doesn't quite _tower_ over everyone, per se, but he does have height on his side. I stand comfortably at 5'7 and he looks to be a few inches taller than me. 5'9 at the least, but definitely not any taller than 6 feet. "Do we have any volunteers to take Caden's place?" _No? Of course not. You'd rather drink tea and eat crumpets while someone else dies so you won't have to._ The crowd is, predictably, quiet. I resist the urge to laugh at their cowardice. After all, I've watched the Games from a Capitol screen, everything there seems exciting and all for sport, whereas these people are plagued by images of their children and friend's children dying year after year.

I watch numbly as the two tributes shake hands and the Mayor finishes the ceremony, looking alarmingly pale and tired. I know it's from nerves. After all, that is his daughter standing up there about to be . . . for lack of a better word, _sacrificed_, to remind the people of the district's what happens when you defy the Capitol. They destroy everything, every_one_, you love.

Caden and Alisha are escorted to the Justice Building, where their loved ones will be able to say good-bye to them for the final time. They probably won't see either of these children again. I scold myself for thinking that. I will be fighting as hard as Jonathan is to give these tributes a fighting chance. The chance that I wish my parents had.

**District Seven- **_**Portia**_

It's reaping day. There's a special way you can know that reaping day is near, even if you've had your head underground for the last sixteen years.

It's the attitude of people. The ones who've lost children in the Games all gather together for meals and support and the ones with children spoil them in case they lose them on reaping day. My parents do the latter. Like yesterday, for instance, Mom brought me into town to the dress-maker and had me fitted for a beautiful dress. _A reaping dress_, my mother called it. Whatever its purpose is, it is beautiful.

I'm standing in front of a mirror now, wearing that same white dress with my mother frantically trying to get my curly blonde hair in order. It falls to just past my shoulders and can be a little unruly sometimes. This is one of those times.

I look around at our house as Mother fights with my hair. We all work for _Capitol Lumber_, the cleverly named company that makes lumber for the Capitol. Two days a week I'm expected to go to school to learn things like math and ancient civilizations. Things that we learn because we'll never need to use them again. Unless you're good at stitching people up after they've hacked something off themselves with an axe, you're destined to work in the lumber yard refining logs, or in one of the many forests, hacking down trees. Our house is made of—cedar, I think—and backs onto the Märchenhaft Forest, which was named for the mysterious noises people hear coming from it at night. 'Märchenhaft' is from old language German, meaning 'fairytale'. Meaning, the noises are all a figment of our imagination.

Our house has one floor, with four rooms: one used for my bedroom which I share with my two younger brothers, one used as my parent's bedroom, a bathroom, and the kitchen-dining room. It's small and cosy, but like most people in our district, it's really all we can afford.

"There!" Mother says, throwing her hands up. I look in the mirror to see what she accomplished with my hair. My unruly blonde curls are twisted into perfect spirals and pinned back, allowing them to fall in perfect, loopy curls down my back. "Now, let's go wash up for lunch. Your father should be in a minute to join us for lunch."

She goes into my room to gather my brother's who were whittling something the last time I checked on them. They're lucky, being seven and nine years old, that they don't have to take place in the reapings. I wash my hands and set the good china plates my mother lay out on the table. We don't use these except for special occasions. _Reaping_ occasions.

Father walks through the door, laughing about something. "Hello my little sapling," he greets me. "You look beautiful. What has your mother cooked up for us for lunch?" I place a kiss on his cheek, feeling the stubble from him not shaving for a couple days. Beards are not uncommon in our district.

"Something good," I reply, not knowing what is for lunch yet either. Mother was keeping it a secret.

"Felis! You're here! Good," Mother calls joyfully as she re-enters the room, my brothers Isaac and Lukas in tow.

"Lovely Katarina, what have you cooked for us today?" Father asks, sitting at his place at the head of the table.

"Just a little something special for good luck," Mother says. She grabs the pot off the oven and walks over to the table. In the pot is chicken, a delicacy we can rarely afford. "Celia was selling her chickens for a low pride today, because of the occasion. It thought we'd have it to give Portia a little luck."

I take a bite of the chicken, savouring the hickory flavouring my mother added to it. She then dishes out the peas and corn she bought from the market yesterday and pours each of us a glass of apple juice, another rarity. We eat in silence, our mouths too full from the delicious food to talk. After our meal is finished, Mother has me brush my teeth and sends me out the door to the square, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"Little sapling, best of luck to you. I have a special desert for after the reaping. It's your favourite." Father says, enveloping me in a tight hug. I don't want him to let go.

The square is divided into four sections today. One for the stage. Another for all the boys in the district between the ages of 12 and 18 to stand. Another for the girls of like ages. And lastly, the largest section, which is for everyone too old or too young to be reaped to stand in.

Mayor Birche, a tall man with a full-beard, stands at the podium. He is getting ready to read off the history of Panem. I'm not late, but I'm also not early. As I take my place, our Head Peacekeeper, Cliff, gives me a disapproving look.

My best friend, Salma Linden, is standing in her place and waving me over. "Thank God, I didn't think you were going to show," she says, giving me a tight hug.

I run my hand through her short red hair. I'm only 5'4, but she makes me feel tall. Salma just brushes five feet. We decided on a nickname for her a few years ago, _Pixie_. Mainly because of her height, but also because in our ancient civilizations textbook, there's a picture of a model with her hair cut the same way as Salma's and was labelled a 'pixie cut'. Therefore, her nickname.

"I wouldn't leave you here all alone, Pixie. I value my life too much for that," I joke. Salma laughs, but it's half-hearted. Neither of us is really in the joking mood.

The Mayor calls for everyone to listen up and I see my parents and brother's sliding into their spot in the crowd of people. I tune out his speech, I've heard it so many times that I can probably recite it myself. Instead, I find myself looking up at the stage, noticing how, compared to other districts, our stage is empty.

They have victors. We don't. We have Melissa Roiben, who acts as our victor and tries to get our tributes sponsors at the Games. The only other people standing on the stage are the Mayor, who is still reading his speech, and our new escort. Kayleigh Minden is her name. Today, she's wearing a purple halter-neck dress and her hair—which is dyed baby blue—is curled over her shoulders. When the Mayor introduces her, she stands up and gives a little wave to the audience. Like the Queen of England in that video we watched of a British wedding from 2010 for our ancient civilizations class.

She takes her place at the podium and clears her throat in a way that I suppose is dainty in the Capitol. To me it sounds like there's a mouse in her throat and that every time she clears her throat, it squeaks. "Hello, citizens of District Seven," her voice is high pitched and accented, and when she says '_District Seven_' it sounds like the words disgust her. "I am honoured to be here to draw the names of your two lucky tributes."

_Lucky_. That's what my mother said the special lunch was to give me.

"So, I'll start by drawing from the girl's names. Ladies always go first," she says, making her way across the stage. She reaches in and pulls out a slip of paper. I pray my name isn't on it. "Salma Linden!"

My heart stops and the breathing of the person beside me ceases. I look over and see the colour drain right out of Salma's face. My happy-go-lucky friend has been reaped. Pixie is to go into the Games. I can't let her.

"Salma Linden!" Kayleigh calls out again, sounding impatient.

Salma moves her limbs rigidly, and people part like the Red Sea (we learned about that in Ancient Religions) to let her through. I don't let her get that far. I grab her wrist, which is clammy, and pull her back. "No, Salma. You're staying here. I'm going. I'll win for you. Just take care of my brothers for me," I say.

In a louder voice I call out, "I want to volunteer!" All I can think of is faces. The look on my mother's. The way Salma's eyes are pleading me not to do this. The shadowed faces of twenty-three tributes that hunger to see my blood spilled across the floor of whatever arena we're thrown in. Countless, nameless horrors that all revolve around faces. Kayleigh's face, impatient and uncaring. I make my stiff limbs move, determined not to show fear. I don't look at any of the faces around me; I just focus on the podium. It doesn't have a face. It's a smooth piece of wood.

I climb up and onto the stage, which is also made of wood. _This is good_, I think, _just keep thinking about wood_. When Kayleigh asks me my name, I stiffly answer, "Portia Cadell."

She smiles and shakes my hand, enveloping me in her chemical-smelling perfume. I stare out at the faces in the audience and see their mixed expressions. Some look happy, relieved that their child was spared. Others look sad for me, like they know what my future holds. My mother has tears, fresh tears, in her eyes. Isaac and Lukas are asking my father why I'm on stage. They both know why, they just don't want it to be true. I don't want it to be true either. I look at Salma's face again and see her face with a little colour in it. Red. Just around her eyes, where the tears are flowing, unashamed.

I fight to keep my face even. Faces, faces, faces. "Eoin Watts!" I hear Kayleigh call, but it sounds distant, like I'm a million miles away, watching all this happen on a larger-than-life screen. A small boy, twelve years old, with a shock of red hair and green eyes, takes his place next to me. "District Seven, here are your tributes!"

**District Eight- **_**Erick**_

People don't realize how much different it is to stand on the stage as a mentor. They don't realize that all of your fears get amplified by ten-fold because you know what's going to happen to the kids. It's even worse when you're standing up there, thinking about how in twelve years and three months, your child will be in that crowd too.

A film crew stands at the ready with their cameras in place to catch all the action. The Mayor is still in his house, which is the backdrop for our stage, getting ready. I'm early. But I have to be. I decided to give a speech this year to the district to give them hope before their Capitol attendant, a frightfully cosmetically altered woman named Zee Forester, tears it all down by reaping their children's names from a giant glass ball.

I stand at the podium, looking at the myriad of expressions on people's faces. Some are fresh with tears, the memory of a lost loved one suddenly overpowering. Other's have a look of disinterest, them having no children or have lost there's too long ago to care about others'. Then I see my girlfriend's face. Hers is lost in the future, our future and the future of our child. Her hands rest on her swollen belly and I know that our thoughts have taken the same turn. Is this the future we want for our child?

I begin my speech. "District Eight, we go through the same thing every year. We wake on reaping-day morning and think, 'Hell, do I really have to go through this again?' The answer is always yes; yes I do have to go through this. And furthermore, I have to go through it with a brave look on my face for my children's sakes." A few heads in the crowd nod.

"I just want you all to know, whatever happens today, that I have complete faith in your children to win the Games this year, and that I will support them with all I can during the Games. I will do everything within my power to bring someone home. I swear this all to you. Thank you for listening," I say. Short and sweet. Nothing long and wordy like the speech the Mayor is about to read off. I take my seat.

"Before Panem, before the disaster that brought about the end of the old world, there were people living on these grounds. These people lived in the continent called North America. They were a hungry people, hungry for new knowledge, new technology, and new territory. They received warnings about the end of their world, warnings to treat the planet with dignity, or it would strike back. And strike back the planet did. Ocean levels rose, and giant waves devastated communities. Earthquakes tore towns to pieces, leaving tornadoes as the natural brooms and dustpans, picking up the carnage and depositing it elsewhere. Out of this rubble rose the great nation of Panem, its Capitol city and surrounding thirteen districts'. Each district was given a purpose. District One is in charge of luxury items, whereas we in District Eight are in charge of textiles." The Mayor pauses and takes a sip of the water bottle he placed at the podium.

"Everything was fine until the period in time we call the Dark Days. This is the time when the districts, headed by District Thirteen, rebelled against the Capitol. A battle ensued, with two rebel soldiers dead for each dead Capitol soldier. When the war was over, District Thirteen was no more and the Treaty of Treason was put in place. This treaty put new laws in place to enforce and encourage the keeping of peace and as punishment for our dearest mistake, the Hunger Games. Today marks the sixteenth occurrence of this punishment. Forever will this punishment go on, to remind us over and over of our grave mistake. I would now like to take this opportunity to introduce to you our one and only victor of these Games, Erick Highland." I stand up and give a short, curt wave.

"Every year, the Capitol sends a citizen to draw the names of our tributes and escort them to the Games. Our new escort is Miss Zee Forester." Zee is as cosmetically altered as they come. She seems to have the likeness of a snow leopard with her jet black hair and pale white skin with tattooed-on spots. Her dress, made of fax-leopard skin, adds to the illusion. "Miss. Forester will now draw the names of our two tributes, one girl and one boy." The Mayor takes his seat as Zee stands up and walks to center stage with her eerie panther-like grace.

"District Eight, I will now be drawing your tributes," she walks over to the glass ball containing the names of all the girls between the ages of twelve and eighteen in our District. "Danilleia Uthaer." A faint sound of protest comes from somewhere in the audience as a slightly larger girl with short and greasy black hair comes up to the stage. Zee doesn't bother to ask for volunteers. She knows there won't be any and she's perfectly right.

I feel a stab of sympathy towards this girl. There's no one out there who cares enough to take her place. No one cheers or looks upset as she takes her place. There's a look of relief on a lot of their faces, relief that this was not their child that was called up.

Zee smiles at the audience with her sharply pointed teeth and moves on to drawing the boy's name. She sticks her hand in the ball and pulls it out with one of her wickedly sharp fingernail's piercing the slip of paper. "Marcus Treble."

There's no sound from the audience, until someone says, in a distressed voice, "No, Marc! You can't go!" It's a female voice, so I guess it's from his girlfriend. Marc is a tall boy, probably seventeen or eighteen years old with blonde hair and stormy blue eyes. He walks up to the stage with a confidence this district hasn't seen since i was reaped. I have a sudden respect for this boy.

"This concludes our reaping ceremony. Best of luck to our tributes and their mentor, Erick. Good day," the Mayor says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. He thinks his job is hard, but it's nothing compared to mine. He doesn't have to watch those tributes die on a screen, only a button away from giving them aid. Over and over again. One day, it could be my own child I'm mentoring.

I watch as the tributes are taken away, Marc with a stoic look on his face and Danilleia with anguish written plainly on hers. Josie finds her way up to the stage and I wrap my arms around her. "You'll bring one of them home, right?" she asks me, her voice hopeful. That's when I remember it. Josie's mother's last name was Treble. Marc is her cousin.

"Josie, I swear to you that I will try my damndest to bring Marcus home for your sake, for the sake of our child." I touch my hand to her enlarged stomach gently.

"We know you will. And we'll miss you the whole time you're gone. Promise you'll call?" Josie lives with me in my house in the Victor's Village, which has a telephone.

"I promise," I say. Then I take her hand and walk her back to our house, grabbing my suitcase and kissing her for the last time for the duration of the Games.

**So, there you have it. There was no check-in with the Capitol because I thought that would ruin the mood of the chapter, and anyway, I don't want to give away all of the Gamemakers secrets or a complete description of the arena. I have to leave some surprises! Anyway, next up, the final four reapings and then onto the train rides to the Capitol. Those will be fun. I'll answer any unanswered questions about the tributes and their motives there. I'll try to update soon! Reviews are still worth twenty points! And thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, your feedback was definitely appreciated!**

**FireandIce95**


	5. Happy Reaping Day to You pt 3

**Hey! Sorry, for some reason I had massive writers block with this chapter, and then school started and I got hit with homework. But, here the chapter is. Hopefully you like it, I'm actually pretty impressed with how it turned out. I hope everyone had a great summer! This is the last reaping chapter. I'm going to skip the train rides because I don't think they're too, too important, but I will include the tributes sessions with their stylists and the parade of tributes. And yes, there will be some cute mentor action going on in that chapter, I promise. Okay, so on to this chapter, because I've honestly kept you waiting long enough!**

**Disclaimer: You know what I own and don't own.**

3. Happy Reaping-Day to You (Part 3)

**District Nine-**_** Alec**_

Every year is the same thing. Two days before the reapings, my girlfriend and I have this huge fight that ends with us both yelling at each other and her throwing things at me. Then, that very same night, I somehow find myself climbing up to her window, slipping inside and whispering sweet nothings to her in her bed.

It's ridiculous and overly dramatic, but by the day of the reapings, we both feel a lot better. A little less stressed out about the Games. She turned nineteen last month, meaning that she isn't eligible to be a tribute any more. She's lucky. I'm still eighteen, and I will be for the next five and a half months, meaning that I have to endure yet another reaping.

Today is like no other reaping day, except that while I have to dress up and stand at the very front of a crowd of boys, she can wear whatever she wants and stand with whoever she wants. Today, she's standing at the front of the crowd, a few feet away from me beside my older sister and my mother. She's wearing an expression that would be more suitable for a funeral, because she knows that with my tally, my name being drawn is very likely. And in District Nine, that is the equivalent of a funeral.

Our Mayor, a short man with dark red hair and a goatee, begins to read off the History of Panem. Unlike some of the other Mayor's we see reading off this speech during the reaping day coverage, ours doesn't try to hide the fact that he is reading it from a script. He holds it up in front of his face as he reads it, so you can barely tell whether it's actually his voice saying the words, or if it's pre-recorded and he's just holding up the paper for show.

Our escort, Reese Thorn, is sitting on the stage beside our victor, Matthew Longes, and regarding us all with contempt. She dressed in what I think is supposed to be imitating the outfits our hunters wear, except hers is bejewelled. She's wear the customary black tight-fitting and knee-high boots that we wear to work, except that her pants are covered in red shimmering dust and her boots have at least four inch heels on them. Her top is a ruby-studded tunic-style top with a black ribbon cinching it in the middle. Her hair is cut in a severe bob, with razor-sharp edges of it falling to her high cheek bones. Her eyelashes are bright red, like her hair, and long. Her lips are smeared with a garishly red shade of lipstick. On anyone else, the look would be absurd, but on her it looked quite frightening.

My girlfriend, Destinee Loup, has hated Matthew with a passion since he became our victor. Mostly because her sister was the other tribute. Melody Loup was sixteen when she was chosen as a tribute, and Matthew was the one to kill her. It isn't considered customary to kill the other tribute from your district, but Matthew, filled with bloodlust, did so.

As upset as Destinee's been since her sister was 'brutally murdered', I can't help but feel sorry for the guy. Tribute's do stupid things in the arena. They're all half-starved and on the brink of becoming delirious. The poor victor lives alone in the Victor's Village, and I've never seen anyone go in to visit him.

"And now, I will hand this off to Reese Thorn so she can choose which of you poor bastards—I mean children," the Mayor corrects himself, "will be our tributes this year."

Reese walks up to the microphone with her boots sounding like death chimes on the floor. Every echoing step is like the clock ticking the hours someone has left to live. _Tick tock, four, five, six, and seven_. She reaches the glass bowl with the names of the girl's in District Nine. She reaches her hand in, her red nails vibrant against the stark white of the slips. She plucks one out and reads it, her blood red lips twisting into a cruel smirk. She's not new to this, and her smirk is something of a tradition here. If we don't see it, it means that something is wrong.

"The young lady representing you in this year's Games is Lena Yarrow!" Also, as per usual, no one in the audience makes a sound. Then, a strangled choke-cry sound comes from the group of girls.

"Lena! No, you're not going up there! Get back here, Lena!" The strangled cry forms words.

"If you wish for Lena to stay, someone has to volunteer," Reese hisses, her smirk growing. It's as if she genuinely enjoys our pain.

Lena Yarrow is thirteen, and my girlfriend's cousin. I know that Lena being reaped is hard for her to watch, and I try to send my thoughts to her. To tell her to be rational and stay where she is.

She doesn't get the chance to do anything, because seconds after Reese asks for volunteers, the girl who told Lena to come back says, "I volunteer to take her place! I'm not letting you kill her." Those are brave words for someone from District Nine.

Reese sighs and looks at her feet. "Why does every district have to have one person who's so damn chivalrous? The whole 'I'm giving away my life for you' thing is _so_ overdone." Reese mutters. There's a gasp from the crowd because her microphone is still one, and I find myself smirking at her embarrassment. To cover for herself, she moves on to beckoning the 'damn chivalrous' girl up to the stage.

The girl, who I recognise as Evelyn Yarrow, Lena's sister, has her hair cropped just above her shoulders in a way that allows it to fall in a curtain around her head and sparkling brown eyes, which are now filled with a fierce desire to protect her sister. I've seen same look on my older sister's face, especially when I was younger. From the massive screens positioned on either side of the stage, I can see her close her eyes and allow one tear to slide down her face.

"What's your name?" Reese asks.

I see Evelyn take a deep breath before answering. "Evelyn Yarrow."

Reese's smirk grows. "Well, darlin', you couldn't let your sister steal the spotlight, could you?"

Evelyn flushes red and takes her seat. "Now for the _boys_," Reese practically hisses the last word. She parades over to the ball of boy's names and plucks one out. Clasping the flimsy slip of paper between two of her clawed finger nails, she holds it up and reads the name off. "Alec Hunter! Please come up to the stage."

That's my name. My name she called. Before I realize what I'm really doing, I start walking up to the stage, feeling white-hot anxiety stab at my stomach. Reese calls for volunteers and no one answers. Why should they? I'm eighteen, almost nineteen, and can take care of myself. I look at my girlfriend and see pity and anxiety in her eyes, a copy of my feelings. And then, numbness. Nothing but nothing. Then, seconds later, a fierce longing to bring her cousin back home, no matter the cause. The fierce longing burns the numbness away, filling me with fire as I give the cameras a self-satisfied look.

**District Ten- **_**Iry**_

_I should've told him that I love him_. _I should've told him that I spend every night thinking about him and that when I blew out my birthday candles on my tenth birthday, eight years ago, I wished for us to get married one day. And that when I blew out my eighteenth birthday candles, I had the same wish._

I'm stand at the front of the group of girls, watching as the Mayor, Johan Semoir, shows Kiera Bough where to sit. Kiera is our stand-in mentor until we get an actual victor. Her family owns a small ranch in the richer part of town and I've seen her walking with her husband and eighteen-month-old daughter Hallie. Today, she's wearing a pretty blue dress with lace cuffs that makes her seem much younger than twenty years old. She looks like she should standing down here with the rest of us, but I know as well as anyone else that even if she was our age, with her condition it would be cruel to make her stand here.

She places one hand on her stomach as Mayor Semoir motions to the chair she is to sit in. She gives him a small sad smile and gives a thumbs-up to someone in the crowd. I'm assuming it's her husband.

Now that Kiera is seated, the ceremony can begin. Our escort, Mimi Strom, shakes the Mayor's hand as he walks up to the podium. He begins to read the long and tedious paper that I've heard a million times before, so I tune out. I steal a glance at the group of boys, particularly one boy, in the front. He's got straw coloured hair and blue eyes that sparkle like the lake on a hot day when the sun hits them right. His jaw is square and, at the moment, set in a tight line. His lips are pressed together and his eyes fierce. I know what he's thinking. He's thinking about what happens after the Mayor is done reading. He's thinking about what happens when Mimi, with her blue curls and bandage dress, marches over to the glass ball of girl's names in her silver knee-high stiletto boots and draws a name. He's thinking about how my name is in that ball, and how I might be chosen.

How do I know this? The boy, Erah Jones, is my best friend. We've been close ever since we were toddlers, and I think I love him.

Love is a strong word, but it's the only one that applies. I once asked my older sister, Caralyn, how she knew that she was in love with her husband Holden. She told me that she just knew. That whenever they were together, she felt like they could face be faced with hell and survive. That she felt like they were one entity, one person. And that's when I realized that I really did want Erah adn I to be more than friends. I want to have what Kiera Bough and her husband have, with their nice house and their farm, and their children—born and unborn.

Mimi Strom takes the microphone from Mayor Semoir. "Hello District Ten! May I be the first to say, Happy Hunger Games!" I roll my eyes at her accent and enthusiasm, and when the crowd doesn't react like she expected, Mimi begins talking again. "I'm going to draw the girl's name first."

She walks across the stage with her heels clicking on the floor. Reaching into the glass ball, she removes a name and reads it out. "Linny Pien!" My first, selfish, thought is _thank god, that's not me_. My second thought, the unselfish one, is that I hope someone volunteers for her.

Linny is a twelve-year-old girl with soft brown hair and sad hazel eyes. She looks about eight, but I know for a fact that today she's celebrating her twelfth birthday. Happy birthday.

She makes her way up to the stage, and some people begin to snicker. The girl beside me, Jenna, is one of them. "She won't make it past Day One. I have half a mind to volunteer just so we can have a chance at winning," she scoffs.

I give her a look and say, "Then please, volunteer. I'd rather see you die than her."

"Touchy. What is she, your daughter or something? You've been screwing your boy toy Erah for long enough to have one that age, right?" Jenna shoots back. She's completely wrong, seeing as Linny is only six years younger than I am.

I don't point this out to Jenna. Instead, I watch in shame as the young girl takes her place on stage, trying to hold back her tears and stay strong.

Mimi then moves on to the boys. "Your male tribute this year is . . . Erah Jones!" Something sparks inside me. A pinprick of fear burns like a sparkler in my chest. _I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. I _knew_ I should've told him how I felt last night._

Erah makes his way onto the stage, and my hand reaches for the silver ring in my pocket. It used to be my grandfather's and it was something my grandmother gave him when they were both eighteen. It's a tradition in our family for the girl to give the boy a ring to symbolize that they care about them deeply. It's time for me to give Erah mine.

He and Linny are escorted off the stage as the ceremony comes to a close. As soon as we are allowed to go, I make my way towards the Justice Building where Erah and Linny were lead. It's where the tributes wait until they are taken to the train station. Their family and friends are allowed to see them and offer words of wisdom and comfort. I ride the creaky elevator up, hoping it doesn't break down today.

When the doors slide open, I dash out, almost running into a Peacekeeper. "Here to see Erah Jones, Princess? He asks sarcastically. I nod, ignoring his tone and step aside so he can open the heavy metal door for me.

When I step inside, I see Erah sitting on the plush couch with his head in his hands. "Erah?" I call softly, taking tentative steps forward. "Erah, it's me, Iry. They let me in to see you."

He lifts his head and gives me a smile, but it's a ghost of his old one, the one that was crooked and would make my heart melt. This one is saddened by the circumstances. "Here to offer me advice, O Wise Sage?" he asks half-jokingly.

I sit beside him and take his hands in mine. Everything is tentative, unsure. "How about, I'm cheering for you?" I ask, trying to put his unruly hair in some sort of neat array. When he doesn't answer and his hair decides not to do my bidding, I speak again. "I have something for you."

He smiles at that. "Really, a present? It's not my birthday, though."

"Yes, a present. But it's not a birthday present. It's a token. I want you to wear it in the arena to remind you of me and how all of us here are cheering for you to win." I reach into my pocket and pull out the plain silver band, placing it in his open hand.

"A ring?" He studies it carefully, like it's some sort of ruse. "This isn't a joke is it?"

I frown, letting him know that I'm dead serious. "Yes, a ring. It's special, though. It was my grandfathers. I want you to have it."

He nods and slips it on his finger. "It's nice. Not too feminine. Maybe it'll give me an edge." Then his tone changes, becoming graver. "I'm going to bring Linny home. She doesn't deserve this. If anyone should win in this, it should be her."

As much as I want to agree, I can't. Erah is my number one priority, the one I can't live without. I'd be sad if Linny died, but I'd still be able to function. If Erah on the other hand, died, I wouldn't be able to do anything. It would be like losing my own heart, lovesick as that sounds.

"Don't leave me," I say, hopelessness creeping into my voice. I swear he's about to kiss me and I'm about to kiss him when the door opens. The Peacekeeper who let me in grabs me by the arm and hauls me out.

"Iry, I l—" Erah starts the sentence but the door slams shut and I don't hear the ending. But I could swear that he was going to say 'I love you.'

**District Eleven- **_**Brianna**_

It's the day. The day I've been dreading ever since Mayor Jordan Arbor, my fiancé, asked me to escort two little shits to the Capitol on his behalf. For the next month, I'll be in the Capitol, watching little snots beat the crap out of each other in a gruesome fight to the death. And why did I agree to it? Because I love Jordan so freakin' much, I'm willing to give up my time for him. Call that commitment.

I'm wearing my favourite dress, which I had shipped here all the way from the Capitol. I saw someone on television wearing one like it and put in an order that night. It's a Grecian-inspired plum-coloured strapless wrap dress, cinched at the waist with a black ribbon. My chocolate brown tresses are curled to perfection and my make-up is immaculately applied. My shoes are purple heels covered in shimmering paint, also an import from the Capitol. The outfit cost me a fortune, but my family's always had money. My father was the old mayor until he retired and Jordan took over the role, and now I'm the new mayor's fiancée. How sweet is my life?

"And now, may I introduce to you the beautiful Brianna Plume, District Eleven's step-in mentor and my fiancée!" Jordan announces. That was one of my terms. I wanted to be introduced in a grand way that would make my status known to everyone in Panem. That's right people, I'm the daughter of a previous mayor and present orchard owner and I'm marrying the present mayor whose family owns another orchard!

I curtsy as I stand and walk up to the podium where Jordan is standing, looking beautiful beyond belief in his tuxedo. I plant a kiss on his cheek before he begins to speak again. "Before I let Brianna take the microphone from me, I am going to read out the history of Panem."

I stand and listen politely as Jordan's gorgeous voice speaks into the microphone. I tune out the words he's saying and imagine that he's talking about our wedding day and not the horrible history of Panem. I prefer my fantasy of dresses and cakes to the picture his words are painting of a doomed civilization and the shining country that rose from its ashes, named Panem. I ignore how he speaks of the rebellion against the Capitol, where people from the Districts rose against the Capitolites and fought for equality. There was a massive bloodshed and the Capitol won out in the end. Thus setting in place the Treaty of Treason, which began the Hunger Games.

"And now, Brianna will introduce our escort from the Capitol, Pierce Nightely." Jordan says, handing me the microphone. I quickly glance at the cameras, seeing my reflection. My mocha skin shines as if illuminated by light, but I know it's just the silver powder I dusted myself with. I see Jordan and myself side-by-side, both of us looking otherworldly beautiful and I think, _we're perfect for each other_.

"Hello, District Eleven!" I say, beaming at the little brats. "I have the honour to introduce to you our escort who came all the way from the Capitol to partake in today's events. She's been here before, and we always welcome her to our beautiful district with open arms! May I introduce to you, Pierce Nightely!"

Pierce walks up to the podium, dressed in a simple black chiffon sleeveless dress. The neck of her dress is high and is studded with little silver stones, eliminating the need for a necklace. I step away from the podium as she takes the microphone into one of her hands. "Hello District Eleven. It's so nice to be back here visiting you again." Pierce is nice, I'll give her that, but it doesn't erase the fact that she's going to take two of our district's children away to die. I don't really care about the children; I care more about the fact that after today, two families are going to be too grief-stricken to do a good job in the orchards.

"As custom, I will draw a name from the girl's ball first," Pierce says, removing the wireless microphone from its place on the podium. Microphone in hand, she crosses the stage and sticks her free hand inside the giant glass ball. She shuffles her hand around a little before selecting a folded slip of paper. She unfolds it and holds the paper out in front of her. Lifting the microphone closer to her mouth, she says, "Aura Erion."

A girl who looks about sixteen or seventeen years old pushes her way to the stage. Her skin is tan from working in the orchards and she has long chestnut brown hair. I've seen her before and I'm sure it's because she work in my family's orchard. She climbs onto the stage and people start to whisper amongst themselves as if nothing happened. District Eleven isn't exactly known for its compassion.

Pierce shakes the girls hand and motions for her to stay standing in the middle of the stage. Then she walks over to the ball of boy's names and plucks a name out like one would pluck a feather off a goose, quickly and skilfully. "Dusk Oakley."

Again the crowd is silent, not with grief but with utter lack of care. A boy with deeply tanned skin and chestnut brown hair takes his place on the stage, not saying a word. The two tributes are instructed to shake hands. They give each other wary looks before taking their seats.

Jordan takes the microphone. "That concludes our ceremony for today. Thank you all for coming and to Pierce for being here. Before you go, I would like to give my lovely fiancée the mike so she can say a few words." He motions for me to come up again.

"Yes, I would like to say that I am going to do my best to bring those little shi—_nookums_ home to you." I say, catching myself at the last minute. Jordan gives me a half-smile, but I know he noticed my little slip-up. The tributes are escorted away and the crowd slowly disperses, and I do my best to smile encouragingly and wave at all of them. _No I did _not_ almost call your precious children little shits. I was going to say . . . 'sugars'. Yeah, your little sugars._

When everyone, including Pierce had gone, Jordan kisses my cheek. "You're going to do wonderful. I know you don't really like children right now, but when you come back, I'm going to want to have some of our own, so you'd better learn how to like 'em," he says, biting my ear playfully.

I smile back coyly. "Oh yes, sir. I can't wait 'till we have our own little Brianna's and Jordan's running around." I say. Despite my dislike of other people's kids, I've always dreamed about having my own. My own little shits.

"Have fun, and make you sure call me," he says, kissing me on the lips.

"I will. And I meant what I said there, about bringing their kids home. I'm going to try my hardest." I say earnestly.

"I know you will. Now you better go pack, you don't want to miss the train."

**District Twelve- **_**May**_

_"And your female tribute for these Fifteenth Hunger Games is Clary Sage Kolen." Silence. Then, again. "Clary Sage Kolen please report to the stage."_

_"Hello, is this Mrs. Kolen?"_

_ "No, this is her daughter May Kolen. She's at work right now. Is this important or can I take a message?"_

_ "You can take a message. Tell her that he daughter Clary Sage Kolen is dead. They didn't show the footage on TV because it was too gruesome. The male tribute from Two stabbed her in the ribs and ruptured her spleen. It was a very bloody death, Miss Kolen. You see, the spleen is a reservoir for blood. When he ruptured it with his sword, it killed her. My condolences to you and your family, Miss Kolen."_

A year ago today I was the oldest child out of three. A year ago today I had a fourteen-year-old sister. A year ago today, I was happy. I had a boyfriend who I thought would always be there for me. I had a father who worked in the coal mines in a high position. A year ago, I was alive.

Now, I'm the oldest child out of two. Now, I have a ten-year-old brother. Now, I'm anything but happy. Now, I don't have a boyfriend, because the one I thought loved me abandoned me when I was in a dark place and knocked up another girl who he is now married to. Now, I don't have a father because he died in a coal accident. Now, I'm like a zombie, eating and sleeping and not doing much else. But I'm trying to fix that.

This morning, instead of sleeping in until lunch, I actually got up and had breakfast with my little brother and my mother. We had normal family conversation and I learned that little Nicky, my brother, got the highest mark in his class in mathematics _and_ in science. "Congratulations," I tell him, ruffling his dark hair. "I'm proud of you."

He looks up at em and gives me this look that screams _who are you and what have you done with my sister?_ "Umm, thanks, May. I guess." He's not used to getting compliments from me, but I'm determined to give him many more.

Once my mother sends Nicky up to play, she pulls me into the kitchen. "What's with you today, May? Did I miss something?" she asks.

I shake my head at her. "I just, I figured that if I'm going to have to do this, to go see the people that were behind Sage's death, I want to kill them with kindness and show them that what they did isn't affecting me. I know they're not trying to break me personally, but I'm sure I'll be scrutinized for being the sister of a tribute." I tell her.

She purses her lips, and then nods. "Yes, I think you're right, May. They'll be watching your actions to see if what happened to Clary Sage has gotten to you. You're right to wake up strong this morning. And I have exactly the right thing for you to wear today." My mother is what you would call a 'clothes hoarder'. My grandmother, my mother's mother, was a seamstress while she was alive, so my mother always had a plethora of dresses and dressy clothing. She kept most of the items that fit her when she was my age because she figured that one of her children would end up using it.

The reaping today wasn't until four, but my mother wanted to spend the whole day getting me ready. "Sweetie, I know you're not used to this, but I want to go full-out on your outfit this year. I'm going to be like your own personal stylist, except I don't have any strange tattoos." She joked. Comedy is her means of fighting back the memories that today holds.

She spends the whole morning up until lunch having me bathe and put herbal product in my hair that she bought with extra money from her job one day last year. My mother's been working as the Mayor's personal assistant and secretary for the past year, and she makes more than most people in the town. Enough for us to always have enough to eat and electricity, which is expensive.

She paints my nails with a pretty pink polish that the Mayor's wife gave her for her birthday. When it's time for lunch, she guides me down the stairs in my cucumber face mask and sits me at the table with my brother, who pulls one off and eats it. After lunch, she gets my brother dressed quickly, then pulls me back into my room for the rest of my prepping. She curls my usually flat brown hair and helps me into a pair of little black high-heeled peep-toe booties that I hope my mother never wore. "I wore those when your dad and I made you," she says, making me wrinkle my nose.

"Too much information, Mom," I reply. She mutters something that sounds like _oh, shut up_, but I can't tell. Once she slicks some expensive mascara over my eyelashes, she deems me ready to put on the dress.

Twenty minutes later, I am sitting on the stage in the Square, trying to keep my legs together so that the people of District Twelve can't see my panties under the dress I'm wearing. It's a short, black thing that's more like a second skin than a dress and has triangular pieces cut out on the sides that show flashes of my skin. It's more than I usually show, but one look in the mirror as I left the house told me that I look _fierce_, which is how my mother and I agreed that it is best for the Capitol to perceive me as.

So here I sit, listening to the Mayor, my mother's employer, introduce our _favourite_ (not) Capitolite, Terra Locke. Terra is a regal looking blonde woman with her pale blonde hair pulled up into a French twist. She walks with an air of confidence, like she knows what she's doing and won't take crap from anybody. I make a note to try to walk like that.

She says something into the microphone which I don't catch and walks over to the side of the stage that has the giant ball of girl's names. "Your female tribute this year this . . ." I ignore her as she says these words because they bring up memories I'm not entirely comfortable with thinking about. "Ally Ravenheart!" My heart freezes as I hear the name. No, she didn't say Clary Sage and I know that. But this girl is closer to Clary Sage than anyone else I know. After all, they were best friends up until Sage died.

Fourteen is a really young age to find out that your friend, your best friend was killed. Especially the same year that her father died in the same mine-related accident as mine did and her mother remarried the District's 'important business man' and owner of the coal mines on behalf of the Capitol, Aaron Clinton, who is also a closeted alcoholic and man-whore.

Ally walks up to the stage with a thinly masked look of fear on her face. She has long black hair that almost appears to be blue in some lights and coal-coloured eyes with flecks of blue and amber. Terra shakes her hand adn motions for me to do the same. When I do, I squeeze Ally's hand comfortingly, letting her know that I'll be with her every step of the way.

Terra then goes to draw the boy's name. "Joshua Hartman," she calls out, waiting for someone to either object or for the boy to walk up to the stage. My heart lurches when I see the face that connects to the name. He's a small boy, no older than thirteen and no taller than four foot nine, with sandy blonde hair and sleepy blue eyes. I wait, hoping for someone to take his place, but no one does. It's typical behaviour around here. Family can only go so far.

I sit numbly as the Mayor and Terra close the ceremony, thinking about how much I wish I can bring both kids home. I know in my heart that I can bring only one, but my head keeps telling me it's possible. And you know what, for Clary Sage, I'm going to make it possible. I'm going to bring them both home, for her.

**The Arena**

Sera stands on a platform above the arena, inspecting it's progress. The whole thing is moving along very quickly, with the untamed wilds of North America, South America, Eurasia and most of Oceania and Antarctica ready. Underneath the ground of the playing field is a surprise for the tributes, one that has never been done before. Sera is very proud of her decision, she knows it will make this year's Games one that people will never forget. Ever.

The pager in her pocket vibrates and she knows its Snow warning her that the tributes are due to arrive momentarily from the first four districts. She pulls on her Gamemaker face and stops making eyes at the field. "Time to go back to the Capitol," she tell the pilot, sad to see her 'child' go, but happy to know that this means she's one step closer to seeing it in action.

**So, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. My plan is to have the next one up by some time next week. It depends on how much homework I get and stuff like that. Fun. Anyway, your reviews are appreciated (and worth ten points, yay!). Thanks for reading and being so patient with me. Also, all mistakes in this were my own as this is not beta'd. It is purely FireandIce95 edited. Again, you're all awesome!**

**xoxo,**

**FireandIce95**


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